Strangeland
by Silver Eros
Summary: Harry's bored habit has finally gotten him into deep trouble. He's always wishing that his life would be easier, and he ends up getting that wish granted when an afternoon lesson goes astray... And what does this have to do with his hatred for Malfoy?
1. Past Becoming Future

* * *

**Title  
**Strangeland

**Ship  
**Harry/Draco!!! YES. This story IS slash. It might not be apparent until a couple of chapters, but trust me, it's slash. I'd have it no other way.

**Author  
**Eros

**Rating  
**R

**Disclaimer  
**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Thanks!  
**To my WONDERFUL beta Constance1!!!! She's the best if you don't believe, just go and check out her stories. Anyway, Constance, thank you:)

**---------------------------------**

**Chapter One - **_Past Becoming Future_

"So what's the old fraud having you do this term? Anything that _doesn't_ involve your death, Harry?" Hermione asked, her eyebrow raised and a smirk stretched across her lips.

They were sitting at the large, round table in the Gryffindor common room with their books and parchment spread out, covering the entire surface. No actual work was being done as they idly flipped through the pages, all of them being too full to concentrate due to the Halloween Feast that had ended not moments before. Harry had his Divination text open at a random page in front of him, and he was doodling little Golden Snitches on it with his newly bought eagle feather quill.

"Nope," he replied, dipping the quill into the bottle of jet black ink and turning to a clean page. "Doesn't seem to get the message that I'm still around after four years of her endless predictions."

"We've started 'soul interpretations', and you can imagine how excited Trelawny was when she used Harry's life as a brief example," Ron said with a grin. "She was convinced that Harry had probably seen the Grim right after he was born, but just can't remember it 'cause he was too young."

"Well, she's half right. It could have been Sirius." Harry smiled sadly. "Or Padfoot rather."

"He was no Grim, Harry," Hermione said softly.

"I kept thinking I was seeing the Grim in third year when Sirius kept popping up out of nowhere. I thought all those catastrophes that were happening to me had to do with him." Harry chuckled. Ron and Hermione's expressions lightened at Harry's laughter and they joined in.

"And I thought he was the Grim, too, when he pulled me into the Shrieking Shack." Ron pointed to his leg. "I still have a weird bump where he broke my leg."

Hermione patted Ron's leg in mock sympathy. "Well, it can serve as a nice memory, then." She paused sharply before reaching over and plucking the quill out of Harry's hand. "You shouldn't write all over the text, Harry. It's a bad habit."

"It's just a text," said Harry, glancing down at his artwork.  
Hermione tutted. "There was this famous Arithmancer named Daisy Nettles a few centuries ago, brilliant enough to be in league with Albert Einstein-"

"Albert what?" Ron asked, scrunching up his nose.  
"A muggle genius," Harry explained.

"Anyway," Hermione went on. "They say that people who are really brilliant minded tend to be a bit... unsettled at times, and Daisy Nettles, well she had this problem with her hand where she just couldn't keep it still."

"And?"

"_And_ it led her to a very serious incident which caused lots of mayhem for the floo powder manufacturers she was working for at the time. When she handed in her calculations to the company, some of her irrelevant scribbling got in the way and they misread her nine for an eight. The product they came up with blasted people's fireplaces to smithereenths."

Harry suppressed a smile and looked sideways at Ron who was looking back at him with one of his 'she's mental' looks on his face again.

"And your point is…?" Ron asked.

"The moral of the story is for me to not to doodle in my books - right, Hermione?" Harry smiled.

"Could've just said that then." Ron frowned. "A lot shorter and a lot less confusing."

Hermione shook her head and pulled her tall stack of books toward her, her face setting into a more serious expression.

"That's enough of that now, we should get started on our studies."

"But I'm still stuffed!" complained Ron, slouching in his seat.

"Then you shouldn't have eaten four slices of pumpkin pie," said Hermione exasperatedly. "I don't think Professor Snape would excuse you from that essay for something like that."

Ron muttered something under his breath and reluctantly pulled out his tattered potions book from the disorderly stack in front of him.

"You want to help me on this, mate?" Ron asked hopefully, glancing at Harry.

But Hermione intervened as usual. "Harry's not going to help you, Ronald. You two need to start working by yourselves now that we've got our NEWTs ahead of us. Honestly, you'll _fail_ if you don't take things seriously!"

Ron bristled as if hearing the word NEWTs was like hearing a foul insult.

"Fine!" he exclaimed hotly, practically ripping his book open and burying his face behind it. Harry sighed and decided that Hermione had a point. He _should_ take the NEWTs more seriously, his whole future depended on it. He flipped halfheartedly back a couple of chapters in _Past Becoming Future_ and began reading.

After about five minutes, he heard the slam of a book from his left and looked up to see Ron shoving his Potions book away moodily and retrieving his own copy of _Past Becoming Future_.

"Sod Potions," he said in an undertone, flipping open his book. "I'm doing what you're doing."

Hermione kept her mouth shut, but she did send Ron a disapproving look before returning her attention to her own book: _An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms_.

Ron leaned over slightly and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "You started on your report?"

Harry shook his head. "Still on the reading."

"Do you have in mind what you're gonna write?"

"I'll just list all my near-death encounters with Voldemort and she'll be happy enough."

Ron showed only a tiny flinch of fear. "You've got a tragically intriguing enough past, but what am _I_ supposed to write? Fred and George's pranks are the only really big events in my life so far."

"I bet if you described the day you became friends with me, she'd somehow interpret that into your doom," Harry suggested thoughtfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes and put down her book. "Oh you two are helpless. I don't see why you didn't just drop the pathetic subject before it was too late and take Arithmancy with me. All you ever do is write down rubbish anyway. How is it helping you?"

"It's not really," said Ron, pulling out a fresh roll of parchment and his quill from his bookbag. "But it's great for a good laugh now and then."

"Definitely." Harry grinned, pulling out his own parchment and taking his quill back from Hermione.

"You're taking the class to get a good laugh?" Hermione asked incredulously, staring at Ron as if he'd just said the most atrocious thing she'd ever heard. "It's clearly just a waste of time."

"Better then that Arithmancy jumble," Ron retorted, nodding with a grimace at the long arithmancy chart spread out beneath the book Hermione had been reading.

"You'd like it if you tried it," she argued.

"No I wouldn't," Ron said, flatly.

"How would you know?"

"Because it looks boring and it doesn't make any bloody sense."

"Well if you stopped acting so thick, maybe you'd understand it more." Hermione gave an injured sniff and ignored him completely after that. Which left Harry and Ron free to work together on the Divination assignment after all.

"Right. So the first main event would be..." Ron started, biting his lip.

"Us being born."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot that."

They scribbled their birth dates quickly on their parchment and then looked up.

"Then, I guess…erm, I'll write about how mum told me that my dad nearly dropped me down the stairs of St. Mungo's when they were leaving."

Harry fought hard to ignore the faint pang of remorse that prickled in his chest when he thought of the fact that he really didn't know anything about the year he spent with his parents before they were killed. It was painful to know that his first and last memory of them was the scene of blinding green light, his mum screaming, his dad fighting to protect his mum, and Voldemort's high-pitched, cruel laughter...

Determined to forget about it, he quickly scribbled down his parents' death with a few nondescript words then went on to the next memory of his childhood.

"And then there was the time Fred and George turned my stuffed bear into a spider," Ron went on shuddering from head to toe. "And I was only three!"

_The Dursleys._ Harry thought grimly to himself. _Worst thing that could've happened to me._

"Oh, and when I was five, they dumped a whole packet of Belch Powder in my hot chocolate and mum had to take me to the hospital because it wouldn't stop for days!"

As for living with the Dursleys, Harry couldn't really think of anything significant enough to write down. All he remembered was a bitter childhood of his cousin's taunts, overlarge hand-me-downs, his aunt's list of endless chores, and his uncle's shouting whenever and wherever there was a need to blame someone - that someone always being Harry.

His 'abnormality' had always been treated like a disease and he was as proud to tell the wizarding world that he'd been living in a small, dank cupboard under the stairs as much as he was proud of being a Parselmouth.

So that left about a ten year gap in his life that he would rather ignore.  
He absentmindedly looked over at Ron, who was currently telling him about the time he had tried to hide the twin's box of Dungbombs in a cauldron that his mum had been bubbling a fresh concoction of Doxycide in, and how the black liquid had exploded and burnt Percy's hair to a crisp.  
Ron already had about ten things listed on his parchment, whereas Harry only had two.

"How many do we need to have again?" he asked when Ron had taken a breath in between stories.

Ron paused and then consulted his book.

"Doesn't say how _many_, but it says we need at least an event every two years. Well, that's okay then -"

Harry sighed. "I can't think of anything that happened before I came to Hogwarts. And I don't think I want to write down all the times where I made things happen unintentionally with magic and Uncle Vernon locked me in my cupboard for days without food."

"Well then make up something," said Ron, shrugging. "It worked before with Trelawny."

Normally Harry would have been perfectly happy about making things up, but somehow, for this particular assignment, he didn't think he could. Of course, there were a number of things that he_ wished_ had happened in his life, and there were an even greater number of things that he just wanted to erase. But writing lies would only make him wish that he'd been born a different person - anybody but the famous Harry Potter with the scar on his forehead.

So, however reluctantly, he began writing not all, but a few of the unpleasant events he'd experienced in the grimmer half of his life.

"And I think Trelawny said that for the year about coming to Hogwarts, we have to elaborate on everything that happened because school's supposed to have a changing effect on you or something."

Harry finished with a total of six events for the first eleven years and then smiled. Ron had been by his side during thick and thin, he could brainstorm events easily with him now.

"So about us meeting, we should write that," Harry said, grinning widely. "In King's Cross, before going through the barrier to platform nine and three quarters."

"And you asked us how to get through," Ron added.

"Yeah, and then on the Hogwarts Express you asked me if I was really Harry Potter and if I had the scar."

"And then you bought us loads of sweets and you got your first look at Chocolate Frog cards, and I thought you were weird 'cause you were surprised when Dumbledore disappeared from his." Ron sniggered. "And to think you didn't even know about Quidditch! I mean, you're the school's best Seeker now!"

Harry snorted and leaned back in his chair, reminiscing about that first train ride with Ron and how fun it had been.

"And then 'Mione came in and asked us if we'd seen Neville's toad!" Ron continued, completely forgetting about the assignment. Hermione looked up swiftly from her book with raised eyebrows. "I thought you were the most stuck-up know-it-all ever." Hermione's expression quickly turned into a scowl.

Harry laughed out loud and sat up eagerly. "What was that bogus spell again?"

"Ehem." Ron made a show of twirling his wand before holding his nose high in the air and chanting:

_  
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,  
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

Nothing happened of course and that made Ron and Harry thump the table with their fists, laughing loudly.

"That was brilliant," Harry said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.  
"And then Hermione told me that she'd read about me in all these books and I was so stunned..."

After Ron had recovered from his fit of laughter, his face quickly darkened and he crossed his arms coldly.

"And then there's, _Malfoy_," he said with venom, hissing out the name 'Malfoy' as if it were poison on his tongue.

Harry's grin faltered as the image of Draco Malfoy swam into his mind; the annoyingly arrogant air he had, as if everyone and everything around him was nothing but dirt, that conceited smirk that never left his face. He remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on him in Madame Malkin's, and when he'd angrily turned down the small, pale hand on the train for insulting Ron.

"Well, we don't have to write that," said Ron defiantly. "Malfoy's not worth it."

Harry just nodded silently and fiddled with the quill between his fingers. The mood had considerably fallen, and now he was finding it hard to think of anything happy again. All because of Malfoy.

He'd never really thought anything of it before, about that handshake Malfoy had offered. Turning it down had just been the most obvious thing at the time. He'd done it without a second thought (not that he regretted it of course), but what if when they'd first met in Madame Malkin's, they'd become friends? What would he have done then? Would he have ditched Ron for Malfoy?

_No, I wouldn't have._ Harry thought firmly. _I didn't like him from the start anyway. We'd never have become friends, no matter what the circumstances._

"I don't think you need to go into _that_ much detail, you know," said a quiet voice, interrupting Harry's thoughts. He looked up and found Hermione glancing at each of them in turn with a half smile on her face. "You've already named about ten things and you're still on day one."

"Right, well then." Ron picked up his quill hastily, as if he was eager to move on to the next topic. "What happened next?"

"The sorting I suppose," said Harry. "We were all scared that the sorting had to do with something painful, like Fred told you, and it turned out to be the hat and we all..." he trailed off, another lump forming in his throat.

"- got into Gryffindor," finished Ron proudly, his quill racing across the parchment. "The hat told me that I was Gryffindor through and through. Did it say anything to you, mate?"

Harry fell silent for a moment.

"Harry?"

"What?"

"I said, did the hat say anything to you?" repeated Ron.

Harry coughed and shook his head. "Oh, er, no. It didn't. No."

" 'Mione, what about you?"  
"It said that I had the brains of a Ravenclaw, but the mind of a Gryffindor," she said with a shrug.

"What's the difference?" Ron asked, confused.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

That night, Harry lay in his four poster with the hangings shut tight around him, unable to find sleep even though he was so exhausted from the piles of homework that they'd managed to finish earlier.

He could hear Ron's steady breathing from the bed next to his, and Neville's soft snores, and wished that he could just make his mind go blank and join them in deep slumber.

A part of him was confused about the rush of emotions that were going through him. And those tears that were falling silently onto his pillow weren't welcome either. It was almost two years ago that Sirius had gone through that veil in the Department of Mysteries, and he'd managed to spend his days without feeling torn and miserable for the past year. He'd even healed to the point where he could talk about Sirius without having to hold back waves of tears.

He felt ashamed. He knew Sirius wouldn't want him to be so weak and pathetic. He knew his parents wouldn't want him like that either. He was the wizarding world's most anticipated young hero, and the whole magical population depended on him to rid the world of darkness and evil. They were waiting on him to rid the world of Lord Voldemort and to once again put right all that the Dark Lord had destroyed.

There was a prophecy to fulfill, yet no one knew who would be fulfilling that prophecy. Would it be Harry? Or would Lord Voldemort end up victorious? Murdering the only boy that had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord.

There were some things in his life that he wouldn't even dream of changing; like Ron and Hermione, like Gryffindor, like the gift of flying. And there were other things that he could only dream of altering; like the death of his parents, the death of Sirius, the death of Cedric, the scar on his head, the unwelcome gift of being able to converse with snakes.  
He often imagined what life would be like if he had a loving family that cared for him more than anything, and a life where he didn't have to deal with being the Boy Who Lived. But alas, he was destined for the life he had now, and he'd made the choices that had brought him thus far. There wasn't anything he could do that could save him from his fate. Even before he'd been born, a prophecy had been made.  
With that last thought, he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *


	2. Nostrum of Etre

**Title  
**Strangeland

**Author  
**Silver Eros

**Rating  
**R

**Disclaimer  
**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

_Chapter two is beta-ed too! (Don't worry, I will be betaing all my chapters as soon as possible). And this is all possible thanks to Constance1! Thank you Constance!_**

* * *

**

Chapter Two_  
Nostrum of Etre_

Harry awoke the next morning feeling groggy, which was a bad thing as he needed strength to live through his morning and afternoon classes that day (those being Potions and Divination). Two of his least favored classes one after the other sounded extremely exhausting and he didn't think it would help at all that he was already tired.__

Too much homework last night, he thought to himself wearily as he flopped back down onto his mattress and closed his eyes. _If only today was Saturday..._

He didn't know if he'd drifted off again, or how long he'd been laying there, but he was woken roughly by a loud thump!' and an even louder curse coming from the bed next to his.

Harry let out a hoarse sigh and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands before reluctantly lifting his upper half onto an elbow, blindly reaching out his other arm to the nightstand for his glasses.

When he put them on, the world swam into focus and he found Ron curled up on his bed, cradling his foot with a very pained expression on his face.

'Morning Ron. Harry yawned as he stretched.

Bloody hell, that hurt! Ron swore again, the tips of his ears pink. That's the fourth time I've done that! You'd think it was trying to kill me or something!

Harry, despite his need for more sleep and his lack of energy, smiled slightly and ran a hand through his bed-ruffled hair.

I doubt that bedpost has a mind of it's own...

Ron snorted as if he didn't believe it. He rubbed his toe one last time and then gingerly stood up, taking his anger out on his pajamas by violently yanking an errant string from the fraying cuff.

Whenever I do that in the morning, the day always turns out bad. It's like an omen or something, he grumbled.

Well, we've got Potions and Divination today, Harry offered dryly. If it's an omen, it's not too far off then.

Ron looked at Harry, his bad mood fading a bit. Yeah, but neither Snape nor Trelawnly'll have anything nasty to say today will they. We've got all our assignments done.

Harry could only be half grateful for that. Staying up late doing their assignments had been the cause of the state of exhaustion he was currently in. He gave Ron a skeptical look.

Snape always has something nasty to say, whether we do our work or not. He'll probably give our essays zero's like he usually does.But that slimy git still can't flunk us from the class without a good reason. Ron smirked. Dumbledore won't let him.Yeah, I guess so. Harry shrugged.  
Shivering from the cold air in the dormitory, he crawled to the end of his bed and leaned over to retrieve his school robes from his trunk. I'm gonna take a shower before breakfast, he told Ron as he got back up and off the bed. Ron nodded and gave him a lazy wave before he left.

Harry walked across the cold wood landing and into the boy's bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Once under the steady rain of water, he tried to wake himself up as much as possible by repetitively turning the knob right then left... right then left... hot then cold... hot then cold...

At the first contact of the icy water, he yelped and nearly bit his tongue, but after a few turns, he found that the method was fairly effective - he was definitely awake now.

He turned the shower off completely, then snatched a clean towel from the ample stack on the counter and dried himself off with shivering fingers. He flicked on a switch by the door and a loud rumbling sound instantly bounced off the slick walls around him, causing the thick steam to evaporate completely.

He pulled on his boxers, black trousers, shirt, and then briefly examined the full length mirror to adjust the knot in his tie before contemplating his hideous hair. He ran a comb through it several times, but gave up in the end, like he did everyday.

Shrugging into his robe and bundling his discarded pajamas into a ball, he trudged back into his dorm where Ron was already dressed and waiting for him. He quickly tossed the ball of clothing onto his unmade bed and grabbed a pair of old socks and his shoes.

Right, let's go, he said when he'd finished tying his laces and had crammed all his books and parchment into his worn book bag.

When they descended the spiraling staircase down into the common room, they found Hermione sitting on the long couch by the fire as usual; all ready to go, with Crookshanks curled up on her lap and a thick novel in her hand.

I've always wondered, said Harry, scratching his head. What time do you get up in the morning, Hermione?

Hermione looked up and smiled.

Oh, good morning you two. Have a nice sleep?

Ron and Harry both shook their heads and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Even though I think it's ridiculous that boys need so much sleep, I am proud that for once you finished all your homework in one sitting.

Ron looked at her in confusion. What do you mean we need so much sleep?' We hardly get enough!

Hermione raised her eyebrow. You usually sleep for eight hours._Only_ eight, Ron corrected.

Well then how many hours of sleep do _you_ get, Hermione? Harry asked, rephrasing the question he'd asked earlier.

Oh about five or six, she said airily.

Ron's eyes went wide and he stared at her as if she'd gone insane.

Five hours? he exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. _Five_ hours? You're out of your tree, I tell you.Well, there are some things worth sacrificing in order to study for NEWTs, you know, she said in a disapproving tone. I don't want to regret it later on in my life if I end up getting unsatisfactory results. And you two should try to devote as much of your time as possible to your studies, too, instead of wasting it away. They won't accept you at the Ministry without top grades.

Harry knew that she was right, McGonagall had told him that in his fifth year. She had even warned him that if he didn't work harder in all his classes, there was no chance of him ever receiving enough NEWTs to become an Auror. And of course, there was nothing he'd rather be more than that after he graduated from Hogwarts.

We don't exactly _waste_ our time, Ron said defensively. We've got Quidditch for one thing, and that's five times a week.Do you really _need_ so many practices? Hermione asked skeptically. You'd do just fine with three. That used to be the norm until last year.Of course we need that many! We've got a House Cup to win, Hermione! And we're not giving it up to Slytherin like we did last year, I'll die before I hand over the cup to those bloody bastards again. I'm not leaving Hogwarts knowing that they got the last smirk!

Hermione actually cowered at the look of fury on Ron's face and, after a couple of deep breaths and a tap on the shoulder from Harry, the redhead cooled enough to feel embarrassed about his explosion.

he muttered in an undertone to Hermione, who was looking extremely ruffled.

Fine then, keep your practice hours, she sniffed. But don't come running to me once you've realized that you have to repeat a year like Montague from lack of NEWTs.I'll do fine, Ron muttered stiffly, sending a heated glare at a first year who was staring at him as if he was a three-headed dog named Fluffy.

Well, that's settled. Let's go down to breakfast, Harry suggested cheerfully as the first year ran off with a frightened meep!'.

They exited the portrait hole with a few other Gryffindors and headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.

The Hall was back in its usual state. All the carved pumpkins and sparkling black drapes from the Halloween feast were gone, leaving it looking rather empty. About half of the school was already scattered amongst the house tables. Over at the Gryffindor table, sat Neville, Dean, Seamus, and several others who were eating porridge and looking just as tired as Harry felt.

Harry and Ron greeted as they sat down, depositing their bags at their feet.  
came a chorus of echoes from the group.

Hermione immediately pulled out her _Prepatory Potions_ book and, after ladling a fair amount of porridge into her bowl, absently began to spoon the mush into her mouth, her eyes never leaving the stained and dog-eared pages under her nose.

But it was such a normal sight that no one commented on it at all.

I heard we've got to brew a really difficult potion today, Seamus spoke up, a look of foreboding on his face.

When has he ever assigned anything _easy_? said Ron, eyeing the porridge and looking ill. Every year, on mornings after the big feasts, Ron would make that same face at the table. Harry strongly suspected that it had to do with how much Ron ate during said feasts. Enough to feed a starving hippogriff, he mused.

Neville was looking terrified at the statement and instinctively glanced at Hermione. She looked up from her book and smiled at Neville reassuringly.

She helps Neville out, but won't help her best friends in their time of need, Ron said, annoyed.

Well, I don't blame her. Neville wouldn't survive potions without Hermione's help, Harry replied fairly. And it was true. If only Neville didn't want to become a medicinal herb physicist, as they were required to receive top NEWTs in Potions - a true nightmare for poor Neville.

Of course, Aurors had it the worst off. They had to get top NEWTs in all the most difficult subjects; like Potions, Divination, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Twenty minutes later, the group started off toward the stairs leading to the Slytherin Dungeons. Dean and Seamus were lagging behind and talking in tones that didn't reach their ears.

What are they gonna be again after school? asked Harry as they descended lower underground, the temperature dropping with every step they took.

Both of them want to work with Dragons don't they? Ron said, scratching his head. They were really impressed with the Triwizard Tournament when you fought that Hungarian Horntail. And then they met Charlie and thought he was cool.Yeah, he's definitely cool. agreed Harry, making Ron grin a bit. "But why do they need to take Potions? he added as an afterthought.

He then turned to Hermione. Why do you need to take Potions to become an Arithmancy professor? he asked.

Hermione gave him a look that said quite clearly, that the answer to that was the most obvious one in the world.

All professors have to at least pass the subjects offered during NEWTs year. she said. It's a requirement.So you're telling me that Snape passed Muggle Studies? Ron said disbelievingly.

Well, not those subjects. Just the ones required for students to take during first and second year. Muggle Studies isn't a required class is it?

Ron frowned disappointedly. Darn, I was hoping it was part of the requirement. Then I could laugh at Snape's ugly, greasy face and tell him to quit discriminating against non-purebloods.

Hermione's lips curved into a small smile at that.

---------------------------

Today we will be brewing a potion that consists of dittany, hellebore, nettle, essence of belladona, jobberknoll feathers, porcupine quills, rat spleen, scarab beetles, eggs of an ashwinder, fireslugs, pogrebin hair and ginger. I expect you all to be able to tell me what potion these ingredients make when combined. Potter!

Snape turned on his heel and pointed his wand at Harry with a nasty sneer on his face.

Harry's mind raced as he ran through all the potions he could remember off the top of his head.

Wh- what were the ingredients again? he asked.

Tsk, tsk. Snape's sneer grew even more nastier. And you expect to pass this class, Potter?

Immediately after Snape's eyes had left Harry, Hermione's hand shot up into the air. Snape ignored her and turned his back to them, striding across the room to the Slytherins who were smirking delightedly in Harry's direction.

Mr Malfoy, kindly help out poor Mr Potter.  
Malfoy's grey eyes met Harry's, flickering with uncontrollable mirth. The blonde made a show of casually leaning back in his chair and examining his nails with a smug expression.

The _Nostrum of Etre_, he replied in an utterly bored tone. His eyes flashed once more at Harry.  
Snape said, almost gleefully. Twenty points to Slytherin. He then proceeded back up the aisle to the front of the classroom and flicked his wand at the large, black chalkboard. White letters suddenly appeared across the previously clean surface.

The _Nostrum of Etre_, Snape repeated, narrowing his eyes at the class. When his icy gaze finally landed back on Harry, Harry had to grit his teeth to keep from saying something rude. He knew what was coming next. I don't suppose _you_ can tell me what this potion is used for, Potter?

Hermione's hand shot into the air, her eyes wide and urgent as she bounced in her seat.  
Harry remained silent and pursed his lips.

I didn't think so.

Harry glared at Snape, his fingers itching to yank that malignant smile right off of Snape's sallow face.

The _Nostrum of Etre_, Potter, is a very advanced potion that has approximately an eighty-five percent chance of becoming a deadly poison if even one mistake is made during its preparation.

The entire class cringed at the information, looking fearfully at one another.

That means, Snape went on, clearly enjoying the building tension in the room. That only two of you will manage to brew it correctly. The others will all be poison.

Neville was positively quivering from head to toe and his face had gone as white as chalk.

Harry was sure that he would be one of those many that would end up with poison instead of a potion in the end. The only two students that would obviously do it right would be Hermione and Malfoy, there was no question about that. He felt his heart sinking as thoughts of a big fat zero danced its way into his mind.

But Snape's sick satisfaction faded quickly, and was replaced by a menacing scowl only seconds later.

Open your books to page five-hundred and sixty-eight! he snarled.  
There was a wild scrambling as all the students hurriedly flipped through their texts.

Everyone will be at their own cauldron today. You know what to do. Don't waste time, for you will need every second of this class to brew the potion, he hissed, his beetle black eyes looking into each face and causing them to draw back in fear. What are you waiting for? Get started! he barked, and Neville toppled out of his seat.

There was a great rush to the student cupboards as everyone hurried to get the needed ingredients before they ran out.

Ron was looking at Harry uneasily, as if he had great doubts about whether he would be able to make the right potion, and Harry couldn't agree more. He would be lucky if he didn't make about a hundred mistakes, because from the looks of it, this _Nostrum of Etre_ was indeed very difficult. One stir in the wrong direction, one minute of idle bubbling, and it would be ruined.

He silently marveled at Hermione, who's eyes were narrowed in concentration as she read through each and every instruction carefully before dividing the ingredients into groups and proceeding to cut them with painstaking neatness. Harry was already sweating from both nerves and the hot steam wafting unpleasantly from his cauldron, but he rolled up his sleeves and collected himself before taking up the knife.

Only minutes later, his arm was beginning to ache as he struggled to cut the dittany, which was a thick brown, completely solid stick-like plant. Rubbing his arm across his damp forehead, he exhaled heavily and glanced up to find that he wasn't the only one struggling with the plant. Nearly the whole class had their tongues between their teeth as they muscled their way with the knife.

Hermione, despite her best efforts, could hardly make a dent through her dittany, and she was beginning to look frantic as the minutes ticked by. Looking down at his half cut stick, then back up at Hermione, he decided to slide his pieces over onto her desk, taking hers in exchange. Hermione looked at him with a startled expression and at first opened her mouth to refuse, but Harry nodded toward Snape, who was leering over Parvati's cauldron and had his back to them. __

Thank you so much, she mouthed, eyes glittering with grateful tears.  
Harry smiled back and took up his knife again. But before he could start cutting, he caught a pair of grey eyes watching him.

Malfoy was smirking at him, and Harry was sure that he'd seen Harry and Hermione trade ingredients. Harry panicked only for a split second before shooting Malfoy the foulest glare he could muster, warning him to keep his big mouth shut or else.

Malfoy just continued smirking though and nodded down at his own dittany stick that was finished and at the ready next to his frothing cauldron. Harry's eyes widened and he followed Malfoy's gaze over to Goyle who was mincing the solid stick as easily as if it were made of wet clay.  
Sulking slightly, Harry went back to his work.__

Halfway through, he thought inwardly as he mixed in the rat spleen and stirred once clockwise, twice counterclockwise, and then seven times clockwise again. So far, he was pretty certain that he hadn't made any mistakes. His dittany had been successfully cut and was melting in his cauldron along with the rat spleen.

He wanted to see how his friends were doing, but there wasn't even a second to spare. His eyes were constantly on the clock, counting the seconds as they ticked by until he could add the next ingredient.  
The thick liquid inside his pewter cauldron was a deep, deep, crimson - exactly the color of blood. The sight made Harry's stomach churn.  
He nearly dropped a whole bottle of fireslugs when a scream sliced through the silent and tense air. He managed to catch the bottle by the cork just before it landed in the potion.

Still keeping an eye on the clock, he snuck a quick glance toward the direction the voice had come from and was dismayed to see that Neville was writhing on the floor beneath his desk, the red mixture seeping through his robes and across the floor.

EVERYONE CONTINUE WITH THEIR POTIONS! Snape barked, his teeth barred as he approached Neville. He waved his wand at the spilled potion and it instantly disappeared, leaving a path of charcoaled stone. Neville's screams were filling the whole classroom as he flailed in agony; his skin looked as if it were actually melting.

Harry had the strong urge to rush over to Neville, but Snape's expression made him stay put. With trembling fingers, he stirred thrice counterclockwise, ten times clockwise, once counterclockwise, and once clockwise.

No one leaves without finishing! Snape snarled before conjuring a stretcher, levitating Neville onto it, and then quickly striding out of the classroom with the injured boy floating along behind.

Once they had left, Hermione let out a whimper and chewed on her lip with worry. Ron's face was as white as Neville's had been and he gulped as he concentrated even harder on his concoction.

Malfoy though, was laughing.

I was wondering when the nimrod was gonna fuck up. Got me worried that he'd actually make a flawless potion for the first time in his pathetic life.  
It was all Harry could do to keep himself from flinging his cauldron at Malfoy's head.

Shut the bloody hell up, _Malfoy_! Ron shouted furiously, his fist clenching his wand.

Do yourself a favor and do something stupid so you can end up in the infirmary with Longbottom, Malfoy drawled, blowing a strand of blonde hair off of his face. We'd all love to see what a deformed weasel looks like.Ron! NO! Hermione screeched, as Ron pushed up his sleeves. You have to finish brewing that potion!

Ron glared at her. Sod this damn potion!Ronald Weasley! Get back to your desk this instant!

He halted and looked back and forth between his cauldron and Malfoy's taunting face. After throwing him a crude hand sign, he stomped back to his cauldron, muttering a series of words that would have landed him in a months' worth of detention if a teacher had caught him. __

Just one more stir..... 

Harry prayed in his mind that his potion was flawless. All that hard work...  
The potion was as scarlet as ever and producing bright, orange clouds of smoke. With a melt resistant pewter ladle and a pair of thick dragonhide gloves, he carefully bottled some of the potion and corked it. __

Done - finally.

Slumping into his seat, he pulled off his gloves and loosened his tie that he'd just noticed was choking him. He took off his outer robe and sat fanning himself ineffectively with his dirt covered hands.

Ron cried proudly, tossing his bottle of _Nostrum of Etre _into the air and snatching is swiftly.

Same here, Hermione said quietly, a fatigued, yet relieved expression on her face. Thank goodness. That was positively the most horrid potion we've ever had to brew, wasn't it?

Echoes of done!' and whoops of joy rang through the class as one by one people began to finish up on theirs as well.

Snape still hadn't returned, but one look at the clock told him that he'd finished in perfect timing - three minutes until the end of class.

Ron was dancing around his desk with Seamus and Dean, who had both finished as well, until a splattering sound followed by a spluttering noise made everyone stop and look.

Ron was dripping with what looked like black goo, his mouth was puckered as he spit out the rat spleen in mouthfuls.

The whole of Slytherin were banging the tables with their hands and screeching with laughter.

Hermione said hurriedly and the black goo was gone.

Malfoy, you - you - Ron's face was purpling rapidly and he lunged at Malfoy with the expression of a rabid lion. Harry grabbed the back of Ron's robe just as Snape strode in through the door.

Malfoy spoke up immediately. Professor - Weasley here tried to attack me!

Snape rounded on Ron. Weasley! Fighting in my classroom while I am absent? I won't allow it!But - Ron shouted, his face contorted with rage.

Professor, Malfoy threw- Harry started in loudly.

I saw it, too! Seamus exclaimed, jabbing his finger at Malfoy.

It was _Malfoy_ who started it! Dean exclaimed.

SILENCE! FIFTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR AND DETENTION FOR ALL FOUR OF YOU!!! Snape bellowed, pointing at Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Harry.

You slimy asshole!

The whole class fell silent as Snape froze, his fists were clenched so tightly that Harry was sure those long nails were drawing blood.

Detention for a month, Weasley, and two hundred points from Gryffindor. His steely voice was barely above a whisper. Class dismissed.


	3. Interpreting the Soul

**My Beta:  
**Constance1 whom I respect more than anyone now because she's a most spectacular author --and beta--!!! Thank you Constance.

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**Chapter Three  
**_Interpreting the Soul_

If ever there had been a day where the Gryffindors felt completely murderous, it was then. Even Hermione, who usually managed to keep a level head in the face of most fires, had eyes that were flashing with disbelief and outrage. Her lips were pursed tightly and she seemed to be holding back something on the tip of her tongue. Probably, Harry assumed, because Gryffindor couldn't afford to lose any more house points.

But Harry didn't really care about house points, he was only thinking of the best way to go about inflicting pain on a certain greasy-haired potions professor.

No one in Gryffindor spoke as they stormed out of Snape's classroom; shooting death glares at the Slytherins who were all laughing silently behind Snape's back.

The trio walked mutely toward the Great Hall for lunch; Hermione had a look on her face as if she were half furious and half worried as she glanced at Ron. All the way there, he was muttering incoherent things under his breath, his red-streaked eyes narrowed maniacally.

As they passed a suit of armor on the spiral staircase, Ron broke out of his stupor and punched the stone wall furiously with his fist. Blood oozed from his torn skin but he didn't seem to notice or feel it.

"That bastard! That bloody scum! Two-hundred points, Harry! And detention for a month! I don't have any bloody time to do detentions with that greasehead! I've got Quidditch and a mountain of homework to do and this is just ARRRGHHHH!!!!!" Ron slammed his fist into the wall again.

"We'll go to Professor McGonagall," Hermione said firmly. "She'll set things right."

"She'd better, because this is injustice! Why do I have to take all the bloody blame for Malfoy? I'm going to kill him, the next time I see him, I'm going to kill him. I'm going to take his little throat and-" Ron clamped his fingers around an invisible neck and twisted it gruesomely. Hermione winced.

"If Slytherin win this Sunday, I'm jumping off the nearest cliff," Ron spat. "I'd rather die than get stuck with Snape after that."

Harry silently agreed that losing to the Slytherins would be...well, he wouldn't be able to live it down, if that happened. Even though he didn't have a months worth of detentions like Ron, he didn't think he could face Snape ever again. Snape would undoubtedly sneer at them while Malfoy pranced about the school, celebrating the downfall of the Gryffindors - and then, Harry would surely lose his sanity and change the both of them into sewer rats, which would most likely result in an immediate expulsion from school.

The teachers and the rest of the students who had already begun to fill up the Great Hall, must have thought that a hurricane had hit the school when they stormed into the Hall like a mad swarm of bees.

Ron, Seamus, and Dean weren't bothering to keep their voices down as they told the rest of the Gryffindors what a nasty slimeball Snape was, and that the professor would do anything to protect the Slytherins from losing house points.

"It's favoritism, I tell you!" Seamus proclaimed, banging the table with his fist as he sat down. "That's the lowest, foulest, and most bloody desperate thing a Head of House could do!"

"He KNEW that it was Malfoy, but he couldn't give detention to HIM could he??" Dean growled back, stabbing a thick sausage with his fork like a spear and smacking it onto his plate.

"You shouldn't have cleaned that rat spleen, Hermione," Ron said bitterly, nearly smashing his pumpkin pastie into crumbles as he loaded his own plate. "Then I would've had _some_ proof."

"I doubt he would have believed you anyway," Hermione replied a little defensively.

Harry watched as more and more Gryffindors entered the hall with dumbfounded looks on their faces.

"What happened to all our POINTS???" a fifth year girl asked another.

"We've never had less then zero points! I didn't even know it was possible!"

This scenario felt oddly familiar...he'd gone through something of this sort before...

And as if on cue, the girls' eyes turned towards Harry, as if suspecting that he had something to do with their loss of points - he almost always did. He should have felt a little bit guilty, but for once, it hadn't reallybeen his fault, he'd only lost them about _fifteen_ points.

Ginny, being a bit wiser in the ways of her brother, sat down across from Harry, took one look at Ron, and rolled her eyes.

"What have you done _now_?" she asked, pouring herself a goblet of pumpkin juice. "Did you get on the wrong side of Snape again?"

Ron snorted derisively. "We're always on the wrong side of Snape."

"A lot Gryffindors are really upset at the loss of points you know," she commented. "Two hundred points - that isn't something we can make up overnight."

"Who says it's going stay that way?" Ron snapped, his nostrils flaring. "Once we talk to McGonagall, there's no way Snape is getting away with it. I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Well, at least it doesn't affect the Quidditch Cup," Harry said, in an attempt to brighten Ron's mood. "We'll win this Sunday, and we'll give those Slytherins what they deserve."

Ron turned to Harry, as if contemplating something. His eyes narrowed and he spoke in a low voice. "Harry, you think it's too late to change our tactics? We've been playing the same for years...and maybe if we changed some things around, the Slytherins might be surprised..."

Harry leaned forward intently. "Like how?"

"Dunno, but we've always played it fair and safe, right?" said Ron seriously.

"Yeah." Harry nodded.

"Well, what if we give them a dose of their own medicine, roughen things up a bit."

Harry's eyes widened. "But - we can't afford to give them penalties..."

"And we can't afford to let them clobber our team into the infirmary like last years match," Ron countered, his eyes gleaming excitedly. "This could really work, Harry!"

Harry bit his lip, not exactly sure that this was the best of ideas. But in the end, he reasoned that either way he'd have nothing to do with the bloodshed anyway, all he had to do was fly above the rest of the game and search the skies for that elusive Golden Snitch.

"I guess it's as good an idea as we're going to come up with," he replied, despite his doubts, and Ron's grin widened.

"Right. So first thing at tonight's practice, we'll tell the team. I'll think of some new moves we can do..."

Ron stopped scowling after that and wolfed down his lunch with an avid expression on his face. He even had the heart to give Ginny a pat on the head before leaving the Great Hall for their afternoon class.

Ginny stared bewilderedly after him.

At the foot of the stairs on the ground floor, Harry and Ron parted with Hermione as she went off to Arithmancy and they began their long journey up endless sets of moving staircases to the North Tower. Even though they were far from looking forward to another two hours in a hot, stuffy classroom with Trelawny, they were in a decidedly better mood then when they'd left Snape's classroom. Especially Ron. He was quiet the whole way there, his brows knitted in deep concentration. It was the same look he wore whenever they were playing Quidditch, almost like a different side of him that had been hiding all through the years before he became captain of the Gryffindor team, and Harry found that he admired that about him.

He didn't really mind the silence either, because his exhaustion finally seemed to be catching up with his body, and if it had been an appropriate time and place, he would have loved to have fallen asleep until dinner. But Trelawny's classroom would have to do.

When they reached the small landing where the ladder dangled from the trap door above them, the sound of other voices told them that they were the last ones there. Apart from Parvati and Lavender, they were the only Gryffindors in that class; the rest were Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and they were never late to anything, being Houses that valued goody-two shoe behaviour.

As they pulled themselves up through the trap door and into the classroom, a strong smell - even stronger then the usual stench that Trelawny wore - wafted up their nostrils and stung their eyes, threatening to knock them out.

"Ughh!" Ron made a face and plugged his nose. "What the bloody hell is going on in here?"

Harry, who's eyes were watering as if he'd just chopped up an onion, shook his head bewilderedly and walked over to an empty table and sat down on one of the poufs.

Ron flopped down next to him and they both glanced around at the other students, but no one else seemed to know what was causing the odor either. So they waited, while struggling to pull out their homework and text with one hand and covering their nose and mouth with the other.

At that moment, the burning candles dimmed as if someone had turned them down and Trelawny stepped forth from the shadows like she did everyday. Yet today, she seemed to be wrapped in more raggedy shawls and colorful bracelets then usual.

She lowered herself into her large armchair with deliberate slowness and examined the class with a hazy expression, as if trying to look eerily mysterious.

"Welcome class," she said in her misty voice. "Today." She looked at each of the students in turn. "We will be working more intimately with our souls - to see beyond the present, the past, and the future."

Parvati and Lavender glanced at each other and were looking positively giddy with excitement.

"I hope you have all done your charts, as they are an essential part of the adventure we will be embarking on today."

"You'd think she'd have _seen_ if anyone didn't do their homework," whispered Ron, grinning.

Harry suppressed a snort.

"Please take out your charts and books as I prepare." Trelawny stood back up from her chair and retreated back into the shadows.

"I doubt she'll be able to get much out of my past." Ron shrugged, examining his long sheet of parchment carelessly. "Don't think there's anything too harmful on here."

Harry glanced down at his own, knowing that there were plenty of harmful things in his, and he began to regret taking the assignment so seriously. Perhaps he should have written things like Ripper chasing him up the tree, or the first lemon ice lolly he'd had on Dudley's eleventh birthday.

When Professor Trelawny came back, she was carrying an enormous china pot that was steaming from the spout and clouding her thick spectacles. The stench grew even stronger and Harry knew that whatever was bubbling in the teapot was the source of that horrid smell.

She placed it carefully on a stool in the center of the room and motioned towards the back wall.

"Please select a teacup and return to your seats so that I can distribute the tea amongst you."

"We're not drinking that are we?" Harry said to Ron, who was looking just as disgusted as he was.

"Well, _I'm_ not," Ron replied, following the rest of the class to get a teacup. "I'll get you a cup, mate."

As Professor Trelawny went about the room pouring tea, the faces of the students slowly grew nauseous. Even Parvati and Lavender, who never did anything but worship Trelawny in awe, were looking a little ill.

"Now," she spoke again, returning the empty pot to the stool. "I will pass out a bottle to each of you, and you will pour the potion into the tea and let it sit for ten minutes."

"Harry! It's the potion we made this morning in Snape's class!" Ron hissed as a box was pulled out from beneath a table and small bottles containing a deep, red liquid floated out of the box and into the air.

Harry's stomach gave a nasty lurch and he was suddenly feeling very nervous. _What if he hadn't brewed the potion right?_

Two bottles that were labeled with their names came bobbing across the room and into their hands. They both took one look at each other and a deep breath before uncorking and tipping the contents into their tea. Instantly, the soggy brown tea was stained crimson and the dregs began to spin madly.

Professor Trelawny placed a crystal hourglass next to the teapot.

"Ten minutes of silence now, please."

Ron crossed his arms and leant onto the table, looking bored.

The sand in the hourglass trickled down in agonizing slowness, and Harry was briefly reminded of the muggle saying, 'a watched pot never boils'.

At long last, when the final grain had fallen, Trelawny spoke.

"In order for this art to work properly, I must impress upon you the fact that absolute silence is imperative. I will ask each of you to retreat to a place in the room where you are separated from your classmates and where you can let yourselves drown in your souls. The instructions are written in your text on page ninety-eight. If it turns out that your potions are ill-concocted, I will give you an antidote that Professor Snape has provided me with, so do not hesitate drinking your tea in one swallow. The effects are most prominent when done so."

_What effects?_ Harry wanted to blurt out. This was the first time he'd felt truly endangered in this class before.

When she gestured for them to start, Harry and Ron quickly claimed a dark corner of the room and sat down on the dusty floor a few feet away from each other. The candlelight was so dim that they could hardly see the color of their own tea.

Harry set down his cup and flipped his book open, thumbing through the pages until he came upon page ninety-eight.

_Oh crap, _he thought at the sight of the page; it was covered in snitches. _Umm... _he squinted his eyes to read the instructions.

_This me..od of Divination was disc...red in the 15 th c..tury by Francis Ver... It allo… the mind to wander. ..to an uncon...ious state, where you are en...bled to look into. ..ur idealities, dr...ms, and fut..re by means of truth unearth… in your...ast. The potion requi..ed for this art is ...fficult and can be dange..ous to brew, but the art itself is th…least complic...ed of all soul-inter....tion methods:_

_First, swirl your c..p five tim... until the d..egs have resurfa...d again. Then thi..k the words, 'Un.......e imagi...ire' and procee.. to drink the en..ire cup of te..._

The entire paragraph of writing after that was completely illegible, thanks to a picture of Malfoy receiving a nasty blow to the stomach from a bludger.

Harry felt like kicking himself when he found that he could not read the incantation he was supposed to think before drinking the tea. _Hermione was right. _He sighed.

But then, as if the heavens had decided to save him from his misfortune, he found a footnote at the bottom of the page that contained the incantation - unblemished and free from ink.

_Une vie imaginaire, _it read.

Grinning in relief, he picked up his cup, swirled it five times, closed his eyes, and thought, _'Une vie imaginaire_.'

He then downed the drink, bracing himself for the worst. He shuddered from the acrid taste, but apart from that, nothing happened. No pain, no vision - nothing.

So the potion wasn't poison. He'd managed to brew it right. He waited for something odd to happen to him, for his mind to wander into an unconscious state…or whatever it was that the book had said.

He glanced over at Ron who's back he could see slumped over and his head bowed. The classroom was dead silent. The only sounds he could hear were of people breathing.

He quickly checked his book again to see if he'd perhaps forgotten to do something, but although the page was covered with drawings, it was clear that the book had only offered three steps: swirl, think, and drink.

He didn't know whether he should feel relieved that he didn't have to plunge his soul into his past, or if he was missing out on something that he would come to regret later. He decided that the former was probably true, so just sat back against the wall to wait for time to pass. Like Hermione always said, they never did anything worthwhile in Divination anyway.

He must have fallen asleep, because a while later he was being shaken awake by Ron who was grinning from ear to ear, his face pink as if he'd been out running.

"Harry! Harry! Wake up! We're done!"

Harry opened his eyes tiredly and glanced about the room. Others were starting to revive from their unconscious states and looking around them as if they hadn't a clue where they were.

"Is class over?" he asked groggily.

"Yeah! Was that something or what? Oh bloody hell, have I got loads to tell you!" Ron laughed, pulling Harry up onto his feet. "What did you see? Anything good?"

"Er..."

"Bugger that then, you have to hear what _I_ saw! No, wait!" Ron stopped, clamping his hand over his mouth. "I'll tell you at dinner when Hermione's ith us. Ohh…she's not gonna believe this! She thinks Divination is a bunch of dung!"

"Isn't it?" Harry furrowed his brows.

"I thought so until today," said Ron. "Trelawny'll always be the fraud she is, but Divination's a totally different story!"

------------------------------

That night at dinner, the Hall was buzzing with talk again, but with a brighter, more excited topic of conversation then the one at lunch.

Everyone who'd been in that class was telling anyone who'd listen that they'd seen themselves in the future, doing things that they could only have dreamed of. There were a fair few that had tears in their eyes, both from happiness and from devastation. Harry imagined that not all were bestowed with joyous news.

Ron looked about to explode with excitement as he waited for Hermione to appear. "Hurry up, 'Mione -" he kept muttering under his breath impatiently, tapping the surface of the table with his fork.

"HERMIONE!!!"

Harry jumped and nearly knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice at Ron's sudden outburst. He turned his head to see Hermione stop at the threshold of the Hall, a look of surprise on her face.

"Get over here!" Ron exclaimed, waving her over. Hermione raised her eyebrows and hurried over to where they were sitting. "What took you so long?" Ron demanded when she sat down, looking tired.

"I had to ask Professor Vector a ques-"

But Ron interrupted as if she hadn't answered. "You won't believe this! In Divination today we-"

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes.

"-did more on soul-interpretations, and you know that potion we made this morning? Guess what it was for?"

"I'm listening," she said calmly.

"It was for our class! We had to mix it in this nasty tea that Trelawny gave us-"

"You _drank_ it?"

"Yeah, but it was alright really, wasn't it, Harry?" Ron said, looking to Harry. Harry didn't know what to say so merely just nodded.

"Why did he make _us_ brew the potion then if only the people in Divination are going to use it? That was just a bunch of pointless time-wasting-"

But Ron waved her comment away.

"That's not the point! Like I was saying, we did soul-interpretations and the potion made us sort of fly into a dream-like rendition of our past, and it picked up all these clues in our life that we'd never noticed before. And then at the end, those clues all directed to one particular event that would happen in our future!" Ron took a deep breath. "And you won't believe what I saw! _I _didn't even believe it!"

Hermione, looking very skeptical, said, "Go on."

"I'm getting an award for 'Best Quidditch Captain In a Decade' and Gryffindor's winning the Quidditch cup this year!"

He put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest.

There was a pause.

"But how does that tie in with anything that happened in your past?" Hermione queried, looking unconvinced.

Ron glared. "You wouldn't be so cynical if you had seen what I did."

"Load of rubbish if you ask me," said Hermione, serving herself some roast chicken and a mound of vegetables.

"You think I'm not good enough to get that award?"

"No, Ronald, I don't think that. It's just that I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. I mean, how many times has any sort of fortune telling hogwash ever come true? If you ask me, it sounds too much like the Mirror of Erised - you see only what you desire."

For some reason, Ron's cheeks blushed a fine red and he pursed his lips. "Just because I didn't see anything bad, doesn't mean that everybody else didn't. Look around, Hermione. Look at Parvati, she's not exactly all roses and daisies is she?"

Indeed, Parvati was bawling like no one had ever seen her bawl before. Lavender was doing her best to comfort her, but to no avail.

"Well then, Harry," Hermione snapped, turning to face Harry. "What did_ yo_u see?"

Harry gulped. What_ shoul_d he have seen? He could have seen a thousand different things...

"I-I..."

Suddenly, Hermione's face blanched and she gasped, eyes widening with realization.

"Oh, Harry..." she whispered fearfully, hands over her mouth. "Did - did you see..."

Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, and then his face dawned with understanding.

"You saw..._ You-Know-Wh_o?" he said in a strangled voice.

Harry nearly choked on his kidney and steak pie.

"I what?" he stammered, staring.

_"Did yo_u?"

"Um...no..." he said slowly.

Both Ron and Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

'Thank goodness!" she declared, biting into her chicken. "I would have murdered Trelawny if you had. Really, fortune telling is not only imprecise, it's completely useless. People would be better off not knowing how their life is going to end up before they've even lived it."

"I disagree!" Ron argued. "I liked what I saw, and what I saw wasn't rubbish!"

Harry zoned out of the heated conversation as his mind began to whirl with confusion.

_ Why hadn't anything happened to him? What would he have seen if it had actually worked? Would he see Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup, too? Or see himself becoming an Auror? Maybe he would've seen Voldemort killing him and then reigning over the entire world._

His heart was beating painfully fast in his chest at that last thought.

_ What would he have done if he'd seen himself die? And that there was no way to escape or no possible way to conquer the Dark Lord? What if the prophecy had been wrong and he never had the power to defeat Voldemort in the first place?_

"Harry? Harry? Are you alright?"

Harry started and looked up to see Hermione peering at him worriedly.

"You look a bit peaky," she said. "And you're not eating much..."

Harry shook his head. "I - I'm fine. Just tired..."

She opened her mouth to reply, but just then, Professor Snape strode up to their table with a venomous look on his face, casting a shadow over the trio.

"Your detentions," he said smoothly, in a voice like ice. "Shall take place next week. You're to come to my office after dinner. And you-!" he turned sharply to Ron. "Don't forget that you will have detention every night for a month."

Ron's mouth opened and closed, not unlike that of a goldfish out of water. _"Every_ day?"

"Yes, Mr Weasley –_ ever_y day," Snape replied, sneering maliciously. With a swish of his cloak, he whirled on his heel and stalked back up towards the staff table.

"At least it's not before the match," Hermione hedged in a tentative voice.

Ron looked as though all the good news he'd received that afternoon, had now been snatched away, leaving him feeling depressed and empty.

Harry truly felt sorry for him.

**A/N  
**Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate it so much:) I'd love you even more though, if you could leave a word, anything, constructive or just an airy comment -- thanks a bunch:)


	4. FIGHT!

**Thanks To My Beta: **Here's chapter four newly updated/beta-ed by Constance1!!! Thank you very much!

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**Chapter Four  
**_FIGHT_

Harry watched as Ron diligently drilled the team to exhaustion later that evening.

First he led the trio of Chasers through a turbulent exercise of Quaffle stealing, then he charmed about twenty pillows into the air for the two Beaters to practice their batting skills on.

By the end of practice, Ginny, Seamus, and Dennis all had numerous scratches on their faces and arms, and the entire field was blanketed with geese feathers.

They all landed in a tired heap around Ron when he announced the end of their two hours, and everyone looked extremely relieved. Harry himself hadn't really done anything out of the ordinary, but just watching his fellow teammates acting in such an unusually vigorous manner of violence made him feel as if he too had been beating the life out of his arms.

Ron stood beaming at the group, chest puffed out and his Cleansweep slung over one shoulder.

"Brilliant practice!" he exclaimed, his voice booming loud enough to echo across the entire pitch. He paced back and forth authoritatively, looking incredibly pleased. "Absolutely brilliant!"

He opened his mouth to say more, but Andrew cleared his throat uncertainly, interrupting.

"Are you..._sure_ this'll help us win on Sunday?" he asked.

The other members quickly glanced at Ron with expectant looks on their faces.

"'Course it will!" said Ron, undaunted. "This is how the Slytherins have been beating us up till now, right? So we give it right back to them! Can't believe I didn't think of it sooner…"

Andrew nodded resignedly and raised his eyes upwards as if he were praying to the heavens that their captain's efforts wouldn't prove futile. Harry inwardly felt thankful that he was Seeker, all he was expected to do was to catch the Snitch before Malfoy, and that was hardly a challenge in his book.

Ron grimaced at the long gash on Seamus's left cheek and Harry noticed Ginny shifting her gaze, looking very apologetic.

"You three should go up to the Hospital Wing and have Pomfrey fix you up."

"Thank you!" gasped Dennis, who'd been clutching his hand the whole time and looking very pale. And before anyone could utter another word, he picked up his broomstick with his uninjured hand and scampered off in the direction of the castle.

"Right, then." Ron grinned cheerfully, clapping his hands together. "So everyone knows what to do, yeah?"

Five players nodded in unison.

"Don't hold back, and attack full on. If they plunder the Quaffle from you, plunder it back! If they ram a Bludger at you, ram it back!" he whirled around to face Harry, his finger jabbing him in the chest emphatically with each word. "And if Malfoy spots that Snitch before you, don't even think about penalties! Grab his broomtail, grab his robes, grab his_ hair_ if you have to. Just get to it. Before. HIM. And that's final."

"Got it." Harry replied firmly, trying hard to keep his face straight as he imagined the girlish scream Draco would let out if he clamped his fingers around a tuft of his perfect silky hair and pulled as hard as he could.

"And nobody is to do anything strenuous tomorrow. We can't afford injuries before the match," Ron warned.

"What counts as 'strenuous'?" Dean asked apprehensively.

"No dueling or fighting, no flying, no dangerous jokes, no stunts -"

Ginny looked immensely relieved. "But Hogsmeade's okay?"

Ron frowned contemplatively for a minute before shaking his head. "It'd be better if you stayed inside the common room. Slytherin might have something up their sleeves and they could try to attack us when we're least expecting it."

"_What?_" everyone shouted incredulously, Ginny's voice loudest above all.

"No _Hogsmeade?_" Seamus cried out.

"You've got to be kidding!" Andrew protested. "You can't expect us to stay locked inside the _common room_ all day!"

"We are _not_ going to lose to bloody Slytherin!" Ron bellowed, eyes popping and broom waving madly above his head. "We can't afford to-"

Ginny stamped her foot with a furious expression on her face, it seemed that that had been the last straw for her. "You're becoming obsessive Ron! It's Quidditch, not war! This is just insane!"

"Insane? How is this insane? You know what those Slytherins are capable of! You've seen their sneaky tactics! They'll do anything to crash our chances for the Cup!" Ron's face was rapidly becoming the same hue as his flaming hair and for the first time ever, Harry was actually startled by the fever in his attitude. Ron had always been a very avid team Captain, but his enthusiasm rarely resulted in angry shouting, as was happening now. Harry had half the mind to take a hold of his best friend's arm and tell him to take it easy, but of course, he didn't.

"Look," Seamus interrupted hastily, stepping in between the glaring match of brother and sister. "We're never gonna win if we don't work together, right?"

Dean stepped in, too. "Right. It's all about team work."

"Let's think of a compromise," Andrew suggested cautiously, watching Ron. "We stick with today's playing strategy, but we also get to go to Hogsmeade."

"And we'll move around in large groups so that they won't be able to catch us alone," Seamus added.

Ron pursed his lips, looking very unsettled.

"Harry -" he said suddenly, looking desperate. "You're co-captain, what do you say?"

"Uh-" Harry stammered, scratching his neck indecisively. "Well…I suppose they've got a point..."

Ron glared at him for a moment before closing his eyes and sighing heavily. "Fine," he relented, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Just - yeah, stay in big groups and have your wands with you."

"See, I knew you'd come around." Ginny beamed and kissed her brother on the cheek. Ron grimaced and wiped his sleeve quickly across his face. The tension seemed to have died away and now the whole team was looking satisfied with the situation. Everyone began trooping back to the locker rooms in considerably brighter moods, and Harry was about to join them when he saw that Ron was lagging behind, looking very forlorn. He slowly walked over and placed a comforting hand on his arm, not quite sure what to say.

"Am I really that horrible at being captain?" Ron asked, his eyes not meeting Harry's as they made their way slowly across the wet field. "I mean, am I not cut out to be as great as Wood?"

"'Course not," Harry said with a warm smile, throwing his arm around Ron's shoulders. "You're a great captain, and a lot less spontaneous than Oliver - and that's a good thing."

Ron cracked a small smile and shrugged. "I dunno, it's just that sometimes I get so caught up in the game and I forget that it's not like chess or exploding snap. I'm always afraid of people rejecting me as a Captain, you know."

"Hey, I'm sure Oliver had his ups and downs too at the beginning. And you saw yourself winning that award today right? That's got to mean something."

There was a pause and then Ron finally looked up hopefully. "You think so?"

And even though Harry wasn't quite sure whether divination actually worked or not, he truly felt that Ron deserved that award more than anyone else he knew. So he wasn't lying when he grinned widely and said:

"Yeah, I do."

----------------------------------

The morning of the big game dawned bright and clear; perfect Quidditch conditions. The air was not too cold, the grass was not too wet, and there were just enough clouds to provide some shade now and again to help the players avoid any glaring sun beams.

Due to a previous day of relaxation and a night of good long sleep, Gryffindor team was more than ready to take action as they piled into the locker rooms beneath the spectator stands. They were huddled in a circle in front of the door, all with one hand extended into the center and unwavering looks of determination etched onto their faces.

No one uttered a word for a good minute; they just stared at one another with as much concentrated strength as they could muster. Captain Ron nodded once and with a loud "FIGHT!" the rest of the team punched their fists into the air and marched out amongst the deafening roar and dizzying flash of scarlet and gold. They waved their arms confidently at the crazed crowd and finally came to a halt when they reached the center of the pitch where the referee was standing with a large, wooden crate.

None of the players could hear their names being announced owing to the screaming fans waving Gryffindor flags, yet they weren't surprised in the least. After all, this was the first and most important kick-off game of the year. Every game was important, just as every win was. And they could not lose. Not this year.

The Gryffindor team looked every part the brave, warrior-esque covey; more lion-like then any other moment in all their history. The sight would have made Godric Gryffindor very proud.

The seven player's faces hardened when the doors on the opposite side of the field were thrown open, and seven more players clad in green came strutting forward. Heads high, nastily smirking, and looking just as dangerous.

The two teams stepped toward the other, perfectly aligned, player to player, as Madam Hooch raised the magical megaphone to her mouth, her wand at the ready.

"Captains, shake hands!" she commanded.

Ron (tall and gangly), and Montague (short and burley), stepped forward and thrust out their hands with looks of pure hatred on their faces. It was hard to tell who looked more intimidating, despite the extreme physical differences between the two captains.

Harry shifted his gaze from Ron back to Malfoy, who was standing a foot before him, staring at Harry with eyes that were as venomous as basilisk fangs. His pale face was smeared with a sneer that would have sent any normal being cowering to the shadows, yet Harry stood his ground. He returned the animosity with as much concentrated fury as his opponent.

"May the best team win." Thin lips curled upward as they formed the sarcastic sentiment.

"May the best team win," he repeated, fingers clenched around the long handle of his Firebolt.

"Players on your mark-"

He lifted his broom and tilted it skywards.

"Get set-"

He threw his right leg over the handle.

"PLAY!"

Fourteen players and three balls shot up into the air like fireworks.

"They're off!" A commentator screeched above the noise.

Harry lost no time in rising to an altitude of fifty feet, leaving the rest of the world behind him in a mad blur of color. Once obtaining enough height to see every inch of the pitch within his vision, his search for that elusive flash of gold began.

The quicker he found the Snitch, the less penalties they'd have to be condemned with.

As the minutes passed by, reverberating shouts and screams could be heard from below, and Harry spared a few moments in his search to watch Bludgers knocking players off their brooms, breaking arms, winding stomachs and specks of blood flying through the air like sprinklers on a summer lawn.

It was barbaric. There was simply no other word to describe it.

Harry winced and felt a lurch of sickness when he saw Goyle hammer a Bludger that crashed into Andrew's shoulder, and the excruciating expression that flashed across Andrew's face as he tumbled sideways off his broom and fell headfirst to the ground. The crowd roared in anger.

Then, Dean cracked that same Bludger back at Goyle and it promptly collided with his jaw and he too was unseated from his broomstick. It had only been five minutes since the start of the game and already two players were down. Just as Ron had assumed, the Slytherin team was definitely looking startled at the aggressiveness of the Gryffindor team and their planned tactics were abandoned. Everyone was just zooming about the field in an attempt to keep themselves alive. The whole pitch was in complete chaos.

Harry himself had to dodge numerous Bludgers and hurtling players while keeping his eye open for the Snitch at the same time. Just when he thought he saw a glimmer of gold, he'd be distracted by another cry from the crowd as a player was injured.

No one seemed to be listening to Madam Hooch, who was constantly blowing her whistle to award endless penalties, the game went on as if this was what Quidditch was all about - blood, blood, and more blood.

Ten minutes later, Warrington was down. Dennis was down. Nott was down. There were now only a total of nine players in the air. If Harry didn't find that Snitch soon...

Another clang and a clamor of hissing. The score was sixty to fifty, with Slytherin in the lead.

Harry hardly noticed the fact that the Slytherin Seeker had been hovering in Harry's shadow since the start of the game; blonde hair in slight disarray and grey eyes wide with fear. More than a few times, he'd let out a high-pitched shriek as a savage Bludger streaked past him, trying to knock him out of the air. Harry of course hardly noticed any of this, he was too busy concentrating - or at least trying to - on other more important things.

He ducked as another Bludger came at him, just grazing the top of his hair. Harry gripped his broom tightly in his sweaty fingers, gulping and feeling very unsafe. How many more of these could he possibly avoid?

And just as he thought that, there was another uproar from the stands below, and he caught a fleeting glance of Ron flying off his Cleansweep with his arms flailing like a windmill.

_Oh shit._ Harry thought, finally panicking. _Ron!_

Without their keeper, they were most definitely dead meat.

_Gotta find the_ s_nitch…gotta find the snitch…gotta find the…  
_  
There was nothing else that Gryffindor could do now, with only four players left. It was all up to Harry.

And just as he was about to make an about turn to head over to the other side of the pitch, a Bludger came out of nowhere. He tried to swerve out of the way, but his Firebolt lurched backwards, followed by a scream from somewhere behind him and he whirled his head around to find Malfoy clinging to his scarlet robes and ducking behind him as the black ball shot at them like a canon.

"Let go Malfoy!" Harry bellowed, his heart stopping cold in his chest. "Mal-"

CRACK!

A world of swirling stars, and he slumped forward, the pain in his skull beyond anything he'd ever felt in his life. An inky darkness began to invade his vision and he slipped... down... down... down... screams... or was that the wind whistling in his ears?

He felt his body slamming into the damp earth, spraying water everywhere. His robes were instantly soaked and he knew that he would most certainly have innumerable broken bones, if not paralysis for life. But oddly, either due to the said paralysis or unconsciousness, he could not feel any of the pain that he ought to have been feeling.

He would have concluded that his body was entirely numb, if it weren't for the fact that he could _feel_ the cold grass under his hands and against his cheek. He could _feel_ the water dripping off his face and hair. He could _feel _his own warm breath coming out of his mouth. And he could _feel _the familiar struggle of the Snitch's wings in his tight grasp.

_Snitch?_ Harry's eyes sprang open and he cast a look down at his gloved hand that was outstretched to the side, buried deep in the tufts of grass, and sure enough, a pair of silver wings were protruding from between his fingers; fluttering madly and wriggling to free itself.

_Huh?_ A voice in his head said in utter bewilderment. _When the hell did I catch THAT?_

Suddenly, something black and something very scruffy pounced onto his chest, winding him as thoroughly as a well aimed Bludger. He felt a hot wet something slathering his face and the distinct smell of dog breath in his nostrils.

He shouted out in shock and rolled over to escape his attacker, still clutching the Snitch in one hand and his Firebolt in the other.

"Oh please, desist will you?" a drawling voice said from above, not more than a few feet away.

The licking stopped and Harry immediately scrambled to his unsteady feet, brandishing his broomstick out in front of him like a sword.

The sight that met his eyes made his mouth drop open and his Firebolt fall to the earth with a thud.

Malfoy was kneeling on the ground next to a huge, black dog, a sarcastic yet fond look on his face as he scratched the thick ears of the animal who was barking and jumping about happily.

Harry spluttered, swaying dangerously on his feet then staggering backwards.

"Si - Si - Si -" His heart was thudding against his ribcage so loudly that he couldn't even hear his own voice. And that was when he noticed that Malfoy wasn't wearing Quidditch robes, that the whole pitch was deadly silent - not a single spectator to be seen. Only them.

Malfoy lifted his head to look at Harry, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Something wrong?" he inquired, standing up.

But Harry couldn't string two coherent syllables together.

"Sir -" his voice choked out. "Sirius??"

The dog stopped jumping and faced him with curious eyes, as if saying, _'What?'_

In the next moment there was a soft swishy sort of noise and the dog began to stretch and elongate; legs growing longer and snout flattening out, coarse hair disappearing, and in its place, pale skin and black cloth.

Harry was now staring at a very healthy looking Sirius Black.

"You okay, Harry?" the man asked concernedly, stepping forward and reaching a hand out toward his shoulder.

Harry's whole body trembled uncontrollably as he stood rooted to the spot, breath beginning to come in short unnatural gasps and head pounding from the lack of oxygen in his lungs.

"Harry?" the voice came more urgently.

The last thing he saw before the world blacked out, was Sirius and Malfoy throwing their arms out towards him as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.

**A/N  
** Please review! Thanks a bunch!


	5. World of Dreams

**Title  
**Strangeland

**Author  
**Silver Eros

**Rating  
**R

**---------------------------------**

Chapter Five  
_World of Dreams_

Harry awoke to the feel of an ice cold towel on his forehead and his body weighed down with a thick comforter that was pulled up snugly to his chin. He was very warm and his mind and vision were as hazy as the morning fogs. It didn't register in his mind, where he was, or why he was tucked into a cozy bed when it was still quite early in the afternoon; in fact, he wasn't really thinking of anything. Just that sleeping felt like a very nice thing to do then.

As he lay there, he vaguely heard the soft bustling of cloth and the fast clacking of shoes on tiles, and the clinking of glass on a marble counter. Then the sound of curtains being drawn aside and the footsteps coming closer. And just as he was beginning to note the familiar sharpness in the smell of the room, a woman's voice called to him; a voice that he'd heard countless of times before.

He sat bolt upright and the forgotten towel fell with a plop onto his lap. Almost instinctively, he reached over to his right and grabbed his glasses that he knew were on the nightstand.

M- Madam Pomfrey? he asked in bewilderment, gazing dazedly at the middle-aged woman standing a foot away from his bed. She was holding a smoking vial and another cold towel in her hand, a look of reproval on her face.

Don't know what you've done this time Mr. Potter, but I've warned you many times before this, that your health comes before Quidditch. Yet have you taken my word seriously ever? shaking her head, she patiently swirled the vial once and handed it to him. Drink this, it'll fix you up good as new.

Blinking, Harry took the vial in his fingers, staring at it for a moment before tipping the green liquid down his throat. He shuddered at the acidic taste and grimacing, set the bottle onto the bedside table. As he did so, his eye caught sight of a long stick-like object propped up against the wall next to his bed. He squinted his eyes and saw that it was a broomstick. No, not just any broomstick, but his very own Firebolt. Firebolt. Quidditch. Pitch. Dog.

Everything came back to him in a rush like a hurricane. He accidentally knocked over the vial and sent it flying to the floor and Madam Pomfrey let out a gasp as it tinkled to shards by her feet.

Mr. Potter! she scolded in a loud voice, waving her wand and instantly repairing the vial.

Harry's head snapped back in her direction, his eyes wide and his mouth forming silent words and his forehead furrowed in utter confusion. Thoughts were swimming in his head, chasing after one another like a game of cat and mouse.

_Sirius!_ He wanted to shout out, but he clamped his mouth shut before the name could escape. He swallowed hard and frantically scanned the empty Infirmary, half fearful and half hopeful that what he'd seen hadn't been an illusion. But there wasn't anything unusual about the room, and it was quite apparent that he and Madam Pomfrey were the only occupants.

Harry felt as if his heart had been slashed in two all over again.

But of course.

He'd fallen off his broom during the match, hit his head, and dreamed that Sirius had been there, before him, jumping and smiling and looking so cheerful... so _alive_...

He closed his eyes in resignation and slumped back onto the bed, remembering things that he'd spent all of his last two years trying to forget. Sirius was dead, and Harry knew that. He'd seen Sirius fall through that veil when Bellatrix's curse had struck him in the heart. He'd heard Lupin and Dumbledore's words of grief and the silent tears in their eyes when they'd been told of the loss. And plus, if that Sirius in his dreams had indeed been real, Harry knew that he would look different. Those twelve years of life in Azkaban would never leave Sirius's eyes, no matter how much time had come to pass. The Sirius in his dreams had the appearance of someone who was ultimately happy and hadn't a care in the world. He was the Sirius that his father, James, had known back in the days of the Marauders. It wasn't the Sirius that Harry himself knew. And Sirius was gone.

Have you pulled yourself together, Mr. Potter?

Harry cracked open one eye numbly, and nodded, feeling only slightly embarrassed at his wild display.

he muttered.

Quite alright, now eat this and rest. She carefully carved off a lump of chocolate from the humongous block sitting on the counter and stuffed it into his mouth. Harry chewed obediently, his mood sinking lower and lower by the second, like being sucked into quicksand.

She tsked' as she covered him up with the comforter once more and placed a glass and a pitcher full of water where he could easily reach it.

If you need me, I'll be in my office. she said, and turned around to bustle away. Harry only half heard what she was mumbling as she disappeared through the door to her office. For Merlin's sake, I'll have to give a good talk-to to that Sirius Black or he'll end up killing him next.

Harry thought his ears were deceiving him.

His heart jumped against his ribcage and he sat up again, staring at the open door.

Madam Pomfrey! he shouted deliriously, yanking the covers off of himself and springing out of his bed. Madam Pomf-What is it? as quick as lightning, she came back through the door with a seriously concerned look on her face. Is something hurting?

Harry found that his throat and mouth had gone as dry as the Sahara desert. He tried to gesture with his hands but found that his version of sign language was completely useless and so grabbed the pitcher and splashed water all over the floor as he poured himself a glass.

He downed the water in one messy gulp and gasped.

Sir - Sir - you said - a second ago - Sir - Sirius - he thought he might start hyperventilating again. Madam Pomfrey grabbed hold of his shoulders and pushed him back down on the bed sternly.

You _need_ rest, Mr. Potter. I won't allow you making such a fuss. but Harry pushed away her hands and stood back up.

You - Sirius - Black - where is he? He could hear his own voice cracking hoarsely from the desperation he was feeling. So it hadn't been a dream. Sirius had been real. He'd been there. Harry had seen him. And Madam Pomfrey knew of his return too. Please tell me.

Madam Pomfrey was looking at him as though he'd become a raving lunatic. She chopped another chunk of chocolate for him but Harry shook his head.

She heaved a grated sigh and pocketed the chocolate. I don't know where he is - he wanted to stay here with you until you woke up, but I sent him off. Same goes for Mr. Malfoy. He said something about visiting the Headmaster's office. There, are you satisfied now?Dumbledore's office... Harry whispered to himself, knowing that there was only one thing he had to do then. He grabbed his school cloak that had been draped over the visitors' chair and threw it around his shoulders.

Madam Pomfrey put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

Where do you think you are going, Mr. Potter? Return to you bed this instant!

But Harry didn't even hear her. In fact, he'd forgotten her presence entirely. He dashed out of the room at breakneck speed, the cold, late autumn air seeping through his thin infirmary bed clothes like ice.

_Sirius. Oh god. Sirius. _Harry's mind did somersaults as he flew down the stairs to the floor below. _He's back. He's alive!_

His legs led him down the main corridor on the second floor, past Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, past the DADA office, and through an empty passage. He finally skidded to a halt in front of the stone gargoyle that was sitting before a plain gray slab of wall near the end.

How many times had this bloody gargoyle gotten in the way of things? Everytime there was some consequential matter at hand, this stone statue was what kept him from doing what he ought to be doing. Harry felt like hexing the statue into smithereens, but he doubted that any of the spells he knew could possibly have any effect on something so powerfully guarded.

Lemon Drop! he began to run his head through all the past passwords Dumbledore had ever used. Cockroach Cluster! Fizzing Whizbee!!

Nothing happened. So then, he tried to remember every single chocolate and sweet he'd ever bought in Honeydukes; it was only frustrating that he'd never bothered to try some of the more unusual ones that the Headmaster apparently favored.

Sugar Quills!Licorice Wands!Acid Pops!Exploding Bon-Bons!Er - Pepper Imps!Drooble's Best Blowing Gum!Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans!

He took a deep breath and continued.

Chocolate Frogs!Jelly Slugs!Ice Mice!Fudge Flies!

A few seconds of utter silence followed when Harry ran out of sweet names to throw at the immobile gargoyle. He gritted his teeth hard in frustration and kicked it cruelly.

Bloody hell - just OPEN UP!!!!

He almost fell over in shock when the gargoyle sprang to life and gave him a sharp salute before leaping to the side to reveal an archway where a series of circular steps were emerging from the ground and winding it's way upward and out of sight. Harry considered for a split second that he'd actually _scared_ the statue alive, but those thoughts were quickly wiped away when he remembered the purpose of his need to visit Dumbledore. 

The ascending staircase couldn't go any slower, Harry thought, his eyes fixed on the large oak door way at the top of the tower. It felt like hours before he was finally able to step off the steps and onto the protruding landing in front of Dumbledore's office. Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the golden knob the shape of a phoenix's head, and yanked it around violently. The door creaked open effortlessly and he threw it open with a loud bang!'.

Chest heaving and breath coming in laborious pants, he found himself standing before a cheerfully cluttered circular office, yet entirely empty of people.

He turned around three-hundred and sixty degrees on the spot, eyes wildly scanning every corner of the office.

But it was odd. Even though there was no sign of another human being anywhere, there were objects here and there that would seem as if the office had been occupied by at least three people only moments before.

On the large monumental wooden desk where Dumbledore usually sat, there was a long roll of parchment and a quill stuck in an uncapped bottle of emerald ink. It looked as if the writer had halted halfway through and departed abruptly from his desk.

On the low table settled between two overstuffed armchairs, there were two large mugs of steaming tea, one still full and one a quarter empty. Biscuit crumbs littered the velvety seat of the closer armchair and a grubby footprint was stained on the table; still wet and glistening in the flickering lamplight.

he shouted out, cupping his mouth. Professor Dumbledore!

There came a faint clank from above and Harry jerked his head upward in the direction the sound had come from. It was the second floor verandah that Dumbledore bestowed to his stargazing.

he called out again, cautiously.

One moment - the Headmaster had heard him. A head shrouded in long white glistening hair appeared over the railing with a smile. Ah, Harry. I see you've recovered.Er- yes. Harry said impatiently. Please - I need to talk to you.

Dumbledore frowned. Is it very important? Or can it wait a few more minutes? I must have a look at Uranus - I discovered a very interesting marking on it's left side that looks a bit like Uric the Oddball's nose-

Harry ran a hand through his hair. It's -It's about Sirius.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Oh? Well, would you like to talk with me alone? Or would you like to join us in a little stargazing?

Harry did a doubletake and furrowed his brows. We're having a nice little picnic up here, if you'd care to join us. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

Suddenly, there came a shriek of laughter from the background that sounded terribly and horribly like...

Another head popped into view next to Dumbledore's. But this one had shorter, blonde hair, grey eyes, and a beardless, perfectly pointed chin. His usually pale cheeks were glowing a very uncharacteristically, healthy pink. You're okay then! he beamed.

Mal- MALFOY? Harry gaped, jumping back a step.

That happy to see me, huh? Malfoy smirked and rolled his eyes. He then waved a hand at Harry. We've just found a really funny looking constellation. Come take a look.

Harry stood as if he'd been caught with a freezing hex. His eyes snapped back and forth between Malfoy's enthusiastic face, to Dumbledore's inviting look, not believing a single word that he was hearing.

I've really gone insane, haven't I? he asked himself.

Malfoy gave him an odd look. What are you doing, Harry? Hurry up, the constellation might disappear.

Somehow, he managed to move his dead feet toward the marble stairs leading to the upper floor; his eyes never leaving Malfoy's. When he finally reached the verandah, Malfoy grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the balcony outside. He was startled to see that the sky was completely dark; he'd thought that it was still late afternoon.

It was hard to see clearly, as his eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the sudden lack of light, but he could tell that there was indeed a third figure, tall and with ear-length coarse black hair; he was hunched over the peculiar telescope-like instrument positioned in the center of the spacious balcony.

Harry' heart literally stopped beating then. That appearance from the back, that powerful stance, that aura... there was no mistaking it.

Harry choked out softly, almost as if he were afraid that if he made any sudden movements, the image before him would crumble and blow away like dust.

Can't now, Harry... I've almost got the focus right... came the muffled reply.

Tears began to well in Harry's eyes. They trickled down his face in steady streams, tip-tapping silently onto his robes.

A turmoil of emotions began to swell inside him. They were so muddled that he couldn't define one emotion from another. Where one explosion of happiness began, another pang of hurt ended. Where one surge of sadness arose, another rush of anger drowned it.

His hands had unconsciously balled themselves up into fists, and his body was shaking feverishly, but not from the frigid cold. He could hardly feel the cold.

Harry? Are you _crying_? Malfoy asked in an alarmed tone. And you're shivering.

Harry ignored him completely. He violently shrugged off the comforting arms that had wrapped themselves around him and went up to the man busily looking through the brass eyepiece of the telescope.

What the _hell_ is going on? he cried loudly, eyes boring into the back of Sirius's head. Turn around and face me, will you??

There was a pause in Sirius's movements before he lifted his head and glanced at Harry with surprised looking eyes. Harry almost flinched at the expression in them. They were painless and lucid, readable, unknowing. They were not familiar to him.

What's wrong? only the deep voice was recognizable. What's got you so worked up?

Harry stared at him in disbelief. He could hardly admit to himself that he'd just been asked that. Here he'd been for two years, thinking that Sirius had died behind the veil, crying himself to sleep everynight for months, and _just_ when he'd gotten _used_ to the unerasable fact that his godfather would never again see the light of day, he pops out of nowhere and asks him _What's wrong?'_ , as if making Harry believe that he'd been dead all along was merely a joke. A harmless joke which, in the end, would put smiles on everyone's faces.

What's _wrong_? he repeated, tasting the saltiness of tears stinging his dry lips. You're what's wrong!It looks like we should leave these two alone for a bit, I think. Dumbledore mused lightly to Malfoy.

Harry whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at the aged wizard. No! You're not going anywhere. Not until you quit hiding things from me because you think I can't handle the bloody truth! his voice was deafeningly loud. But he meant it to be. He didn't care if the whole school heard him.

Please, I mean to hide no veracity from you. Tell me what I have kept silent, and I will answer it the best I can. Dumbledore's voice in contrast was gentle and calm, always patient. Harry hated it. Harry hated being treated like a child. He was seventeen. No longer tender and innocent.

You lied to me! he shouted, his voice breaking. You've lied to me all along! You've been feeding me lies since the beginning! Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie! Sirius barked angrily. That is _not_ the way you speak to Professor Dumbledore!

Harry clamped his eyes tightly, trying to drown out his godfather's voice.

Shut up! he screamed.

Harry, I am not lying when I say that I have absolutely no clue what you are talking about. Dumbledore spoke, as if being accused of falsehoods by his students was a mild issue that he dealt with everyday. But if you'll simply tell me what wrong I might have done -So hiding the fact that Sirius never died isn't _wrong_? Telling me that there was nothing anyone could do to save him, when really, he was hiding out at the Order headquarters, wasn't _wrong_? What else have you lied about that isn't _wrong_?Maybe the Prophecy is all fake? Have all those so-called adventures' of mine all been a sick game you've put me to? Maybe my parents aren't dead then, is that what you've been hiding from me too? All the doubts and mistrust that he'd been feeling toward Dumbledore these past few years burst from the punctured hole in his heart. He didn't care if he insulted Dumbledore with his words. In fact, he wanted to. He wanted to see the old man crumble to his knees and apologize. He wanted him to shed a tear of remorse. He wanted him to feel the raw pain _he_ felt. He wanted to know the truth.

There was a dead silence that trailed his outbreak. The only sound was Harry's sobs racking his lungs and the wind blowing softly between and all around them.

He didn't recognize this silence as that of confusion until he looked up and saw the other's faces. They all had furrowed brows and mouths that were hanging agape wordlessly.

Please, just tell me the whole truth. he finally pleaded weakly; the silence was unbearable.

After a moment, Dumbledore cleared his throat, and for the first time in his years at Hogwarts, he thought he could interpret the look on the old wizard's face as uncertainty. It gave him an odd feeling, seeing that.

Harry, my dear boy... Dumbledore began slowly, peering at him intently. What is this all about?

Harry blinked. Wh - what?I think you have us confused, or perhaps you are confused about something?

This wasn't making any sense. What was Dumbledore trying to say?

I didn't know there was a prophecy about you Harry. Why didn't you tell me? Malfoy asked, looking half confounded, half insulted.

Of course you wouldn't know. Harry managed to snort halfheartedly. You're not one of the Order are you?What's this order that you talk of? Dumbledore inquired politely, his blue eyes softening.

Harry stared at him. Order? The Order of the Phoenix? he snapped, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice. The bloody get-together you've got going on at Number 12 Grimmauld Place? Anti-Voldemort congregation?

To his fury, the other three continued to exchange weird looks which made Harry feel as if they were mocking him.

Sirius fixed his cool gaze on him and chuckled. That's a good one, Harry. A congregation at my place? Not a bad idea though. Harry exploded, scraping his forehead savagely with his palms. GOD DAMMIT, WHY DON'T YOU LOT WAKE THE HELL UP???

They continued to cast neutral looks on him.

Go on Draco. Check his fever. Sirius directed solemnly.

NO!! I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT A BLOODY FEVER!! MY SCAR! MY FAMOUS SOUVENIR VOLDEMORT GAVE ME WHEN HE KILLED MY PARENTS!!!

At that moment, Sirius's face split into a grin and he pounded his fist into his palm.

he bellowed, making Harry jump out of his skin. His eyes flickered knowingly. You've had one of your nightmares again, haven't you? You've been complaining about them lately.Oh, I see. Dumbledore nodded slowly, stroking his long beard. Well thank Merlin, that explains everything.Come here, Harry. Malfoy whispered, reaching out and circling his arms around Harry's body again. It's alright.

Harry felt a blush rising in his face like a ripened tomato and he gruffly pushed Malfoy away.

Get the hell away. he snarled through his teeth.

He was taken aback when Malfoy's eyes flashed with hurt and narrowed. He closed his mouth with a snap and crossed his arms coldly.

Fine, you asshole.Now Draco, you know Harry is probably feeling confused right now. He has a right to act the way he is. He just needs a bit of rest and perhaps some chocolate. Dumbledore consoled, patting Malfoy on the shoulder in a fatherly fashion.

You three are the ones that've lost your minds! he said relentlessly, feeling more frightened then he'd ever felt. Something was terribly wrong, and he'd just realized that. He began backing away, stumbling on the threshold of the doorway. Who are you? Where am I? Are you Death Eaters?He needs to visit Madam Pomfrey, this could be very severe. stated Dumbledore pulling out his wand. He could have injured his brain when he fell of his broom earlier today.

Malfoy's expression instantly changed from pissed off to concerned faster then a set of muggle stoplights.

Oh god, I'm so sorry Harry. he said, grey eyes wide with fear. It was the same look he had on his face during that fateful Quidditch match. I didn't mean to knock you off your broom. I was upset because you got the Snitch -I'm sure Harry doesn't blame you, now would you accompany him to the Infirmary, Draco?

Malfoy nodded and almost _tentatively_ took hold of Harry's upper arm. The grip was gentle. Harry started.

_This has got to be dream._ Harry thought dizzily. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. _Maybe if I go back to sleep, I'll wake up and return to reality._

Convinced that this was the reason for all of the insanity, he mutely let Malfoy lead him off the balcony, through Dumbledore's office, down the winding stair tower and up another moving staircase to the Infirmary where he'd been only a short hour before.

Malfoy didn't say a word to him, but kept shooting him glances out of the corner of his eye, and Harry could distinctly feel a thumb caressing his arm. He shivered at the touch but acted as though he wasn't aware of it. Everything wasn't how it should be in this world. Sirius was alive. Malfoy wasn't a jerk. And none of his past apparently existed.

He didn't hear a word of Madam Pomfrey's scolding as she made him lay down in the same bed with another cold towel and another vial of foul medicine. He didn't notice Malfoy removing his glasses and setting them on the nightstand.

He just closed his eyes and hoped that he could drift off to sleep soon. When he woke, he would be back in his world. Everything would be normal.

_TBC..._

**Please please please review! Thank you so much!  
And thank you to all that reviewed and read my story!  
**


	6. The Final Decision

**Title  
**Strangeland

**Author  
**Silver Eros

**Rating  
**R

**Note  
**Thank you for all those that have reviewed! A special thank you to silverXserpent, bunnyb, and zoomaphonethepirate! The reviews were very inspiring! And as you have probably realized, the slash between Harry and Draco is slow in developing; but it needs to be that way to make sense. It would be odd if Harry suddenly falls in love with Draco when they've been enemies since the first day of school. lol. I really hope I was able to answer _some_ of the confusion in the chapter! It's not quite long but I'm going to hurry up and work on the next chapter! Thank you again!

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**Chapter Six  
**_ The Final Decision  
_

_"Harry! Oh my god, Harry! Can you hear me?"_

_Someone - a female voice, was whimpering softly beside him. The noise in the background was loud. Worried voices, angry shouts, curses._

_"He can't hear us, 'Mione! He's knocked out!"_

_"Madam Hooch! Will he be alright? I don't think he's breathing!"_

_"We must get him to the Hospital Wing immediately! Everyone move back! Do not touch him!"_

_"Oh Ron! This can't be happening - Harry can't - can't -" the girl was sobbing now._

_"He's not dead 'Mione. Can't be. He'll be alright once Madam Pomfrey fixes him up." the voice was throaty and unsure, despite the comforting words. "It's all Malfoy's bloody fault! I'll kill him the next chance I've got!"_

_"Someone keep talking to him! We can't let him drift away! Call his name!"_

_Another series of strangled sobs._

_"Harry! Harry, mate! It's us! It's Ron and Hermione! Can you hear us?"_

_"Please Harry! Please open your eyes! Please wake up!"_

_"It'll be alright, mate! Just hang on! We're gonna get you the the hospital wing in a jiffy! You'll be alright!"_

_"Hang on Harry! You have to hang on!"_

_"Come on Harry! Talk to us! Open your eyes! You'll be fine! Everything'll be okay!"_

_"Hang on! Hang on, hang on... hang on...... hang... on........._

_Hang on._

With a gasp Harry's eyes shot open and he felt the weight of his body returning heavily.

"Harry!"

He sat bolt upright, expecting to see a mop of flaming red hair and freckles, or a bush of brown hair and worried chocolate eyes, but it was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over his head when he found Malfoy's pale face only inches from his own, smiling and looking ecstatic.

A yelp slipped from his lips and he slammed his back into the wall behind him. He winced at the crack his spine made.

"Feel any better?" Malfoy asked, scooting forward to place a hand gently on Harry's forehead. He looked relieved and took his hand away. "No fever. But - just in case, we should check your temperature." Shaking a long thermometer between his fingers, he examined it briefly before jabbing it into Harry's mouth.

Harry made a sound of complaint in the back of throat and tried to yank the instrument out, but realized that it wasn't a muggle thermometer; it was magically stuck under his tongue.

"Thought I heard voices!" The curtains were drawn apart and Sirius stepped into view with an equally wide grin on his face. He was holding a large box and an awkward shaped bag that he was holding by the neck. "And how's my favorite godson doing?"

Harry meant to cry out "SIRIUS!" both out of happiness of seeing him again, and despair at the knowledge that he was still in his dream state, but the sound only came out as a gurgle, due to the fact that his mouth was sealed shut by the thermometer.

"Ah, yes." said Sirius with a chuckle, pulling up a stool next to Malfoy and nodding at the thermometer. "Sorry about that. Anyway!" he set the two items on the edge of Harry's bed, a sly smile spreading across his handsome face. Whatever that was in the bag made a loud clinking noises, like glass against glass. "Brought us something to cheer you up, Harry."

Sirius reached forward and lifted the lid of the box with a flourish.

Malfoy tilted his head to get a glimpse of the box's contents.

"Extra chocolatey cauldron cakes!" Sirius exclaimed. "Dumbledore said you needed some chocolate, right?" Wiggling his eyebrows, he then put his hand into the crumpled bag and pulled out three glistening bottles of butterbeer and swung them back and forth. "Aaaaand, tada! Your favorite drink!"

Malfoy let out a snort and sat back in his chair. "First of all, I don't think fatty, sugary cauldron cakes were what Dumbledore had in mind when he suggested some chocolate. And butterbeer, Sirius? You'll get us kicked out if Madam Pomfrey finds us with it in the infirmary."

"Such a bright ray of sunshine, aren't you, Draco?" Sirius commented, proceeding to pop the caps of all three bottles expertly with his thumb. "As long as we keep it down, she'll notice nothing."

There was a quiet beeping noise and even before Harry could notice that it was coming from his mouth, Malfoy reached over and took the thermometer out and held it to the lamplight.

"As I thought, no fever. And it says that you're perfectly healthy too, although a bit on the thin side." he tossed the thermometer carelessly into the nightstand drawer and gave Harry a sincere smile. "So, do you want to talk about the nightmares you've been having? Dumbledore was worried and said that you should get it all out of your system."

"Yeah, go on, tell us." Sirius insisted thickly through a mouthful of cake. He took a swig of his butterbeer and cleared his throat. "I really want to know what this whole thing of having parties at my place is about."

"They're not parties." Harry sighed, taking a cake for himself. He knew now that this was just a dream, and that it would be pointless to act as if it weren't. He might as well just go with flow, even if it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to endure - seeing and talking to Sirius as if this was how it'd been all along. "They're meetings."

"Ohhhh." Sirius said wisely. "I see. So they're formal?"

"Pretty formal." he replied quietly. He could feel tears stinging his eyelids again. _No!_ A voice said in his head. He couldn't start crying now. Being sad would only make the situation less bearable. Even if it was an illusional Sirius that was sitting in front of him now, he still didn't want to look weak and pathetic. He wanted Sirius to see that he was strong. Capable of surviving on his own. A part of him, Harry decided, was angry at his godfather for dying and leaving him alone just when he'd begun to believe that maybe he'd be able to live with him in the near future. Grimmauld place had started to look like a home to him, even with all the evil looking portraits and dust. He wouldn't mind Mrs. Black's screeching half as much, and he wouldn't mind the foul glares from Kreacher, if only Sirius was there with him every summer.

His arms ached to throw themselves around Sirius and cling to him like he were his only buoy in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. He wanted to cry and tell him that he'd missed him and that he never wanted him to leave again. But no. Doing those things would only break his heart even more when it came time to wake up. If he acted distant, maybe Sirius would become distant too. That way it would be easier for Harry.

It was Sirius's voice that brought him back from his stupor.

".... So? What else? That can't be all of it."

Harry blinked away his tears and turned his head so that they wouldn't be able to see his face.

Malfoy was slurping his own butterbeer daintily with a color-changing straw. He licked his lips and sighed contentedly.

"By the way, Harry." the blonde said, his eyes glinting with mischievous interest. "How did you manage to get past that gargoyle?"

Sirius clapped his hands and leaned in. "Exactly! We were talking about that earlier, when you were still sleeping. How _did_ you figure it out? Knowing you, I'd have thought you'd never be able to crack it."

Harry frowned. "I didn't. Well, I don't think I did at least. I just kicked it and told it to open - and it did."

"Are you sure you didn't dirty your tongue a bit, hm?" Sirius grinned slyly.

A blush creeped across Harry's face and his eyes widened.

"Ah, so you did swear!"

" 'Bloody hell!' to be exact, wasn't it?" Draco laughed, eyeing Harry fondly. "Pity we weren't there to hear it. It would have been worth millions."

Harry couldn't help but smile slightly. "Yeah right, like Dumbledore would set a password like that."

Sirius smirked and stuffed the last bite of his tasty morsel into his mouth and said, as he was licking his fingers, "It wasn't Dumbledore that set it, obviously. I asked him if he'd let me think of a new password just for the afternoon and he gave me permission. 'Bloody hell' wasn't my choice though, thanks to our dear Draco, here." Sirius mock-scowled at Malfoy and flicked him on the temple.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, hand going up instinctively to smooth out his disrupted hair. "I didn't _mean_ to set it to that," he drawled. "No one warned me that the Gargoyle actually _moves_. And by the time the words were out of my mouth, the Gargoyle had ate them up and we couldn't re-change it."

"But back to you Harry, the nightmares." Sirius said suddenly, his expression somber. "I remember you said something about me being dead, and Lily and James being dead... what was all that about?"

The bottle slipped from Harry's fingers, but he caught it before it emptied onto his sheets.

"M - my parents..." said Harry, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Malfoy soothed Harry's thigh, and Harry felt an odd jolt in the pit of his stomach, but he tried to brush it away by focusing his gaze on Sirius.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair; a nervous habit of his.

"It doesn't matter." he shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I mean, I'm just dreaming anyway."

"But talking about your nightmares will make it better. Come on, talk to us." Sirius coaxed, a paternal concern coming over his face.

But Harry closed his eyes, finally giving into the wreck he was feeling. "No," he said under his breath, burying his face in his hands. "Go away. I'm not having nightmares. Just let me wake up... Please."

Sirius's hand was on his shoulder. "Harry, it's alright. We're here for you."

"No you're not!" he bit out, feeling his simmering temper boiling again and shooting Sirius the nastiest glare that he could. "You're not here for me! You'll never be here for me! You left me!" he let out a shuddering breath, and he looked away, biting his lip. "But you know what? I'm okay with that now. I've come this far by myself. I don't need anyone to be there for me anymore."

"Harry, what are you talking about? Of course I'm here for you. And I'll always be here for you, no matter what. So will your mother and father."

"And me." Draco added.

Sirius smiled. "Yes, and Draco. We all love you and we all care about you, Harry."

But Harry's heart was set. He wasn't going to let this Sirius break through the lock he'd placed with painstaking effort. He wasn't going to let his vulnerability get the better of him. He wasn't going to lose.

"Fine. You want to know the truth?" Harry spat, putting as much distance in between him and the other two as possible. "You're not real. And this isn't real. THIS is my nightmare, and when I wake up, you'll be gone Sirius. And Malfoy will go back to hating me like he should. My parents will be dead, you'll be dead, and I'll have my bloody scar back on my forehead. My life will go back to being hell, and I'll hate every minute of it!" he slumped back into his bed and yanked the comforter over his head, chest heaving and cheeks flushed with fury and resentment. He knew he was right, whether or not he wanted to believe his own words. He might as well accept the truth; there was no hope for him after all.

He could almost feel the heat of Malfoy's gaze on him, even through the thick layer of down. The hand on his thigh was still there, and it was trembling slightly.

"You know what? This is funny anymore, Harry." Malfoy's voice snapped, full of annoyance. "I never said anything about hating you and you're just acting ridiculous! I don't know and I don't care what kind of stupid dreams you've seen, but the way you've been treating me today is like shit. You flinch everytime I touch you, you hardly look at me in the face -"

"Draco -" Sirius said wearily.

"No!" Malfoy cut in. "Harry, if you're sick of being my friend, why don't you just tell me instead of making such a big deal about it?!"

For some reason, even though it shouldn't have meant anything to Harry, Malfoy's words stung him like a slap across the face. He hesitated before slowly lowering the cover to his chest.

Malfoy's face was flushed and his light grey eyes were flashing indignantly. He snatched his hand back and stood up.

Harry honestly couldn't say which Malfoy he preferred. Malfoy's performance had been enough to momentarily take his mind away from Sirius and he could only stare silently at the blonde teen. In reality, Malfoy was an unbearable, stuck-up, spiteful, everything-related-to-Harry-Potter hating Slytherin. On most daily occasions, he'd go out of his way to create mayhem and trouble for the Gryffindors. _This_ Malfoy, however his sincerity and affection, unnerved Harry to the point where he found himself incapable of speech. He was used to throwing back insults and much name-calling, but definitely not the soft touches or the soothings. It seemed that in this dream, Malfoy was his friend. He didn't know how to deal with that.

"Well, Harry?" Sirius asked in a pointed tone, clearly telling him to deny all that Malfoy had accused him of.

"Uh ..." said Harry lamely.

But at that moment, his mind began working at double-speed. It was whirring and spinning like a well-oiled pocketwatch on fastforward. A headache like a migraine attacked him and he clamped his hand over his forehead, groaning in pain.

Images, thoughts, memories. They were all piecing them together one by one; like a huge puzzle.

A messy scrawl on a long roll of parchment began to unravel inside his mind. It was flashing sentences two seconds at a time. His own writing.

_  
October 31st, 1981  
James and Lily Potter killed.  
Recieved a scar on my forehead._

_September 1st, 1991  
Started Hogwarts.  
Met Malfoy on the train, refused to be his friend._

_June 4th, 1992  
Second encounter with Voldemort  
Sorcerer's stone destroyed._

_December 18th,1992  
Students attacked in school.  
Talked Parsel Tongue.  
Accused of being the heir of Slytherin._

_May 29th, 1993  
Third encounter with Voldemort in the form of a memory from his diary as Tom Marvollo Riddle.  
Destroyed diary._

_June 9th, 1994  
Wormtail escapes. Padfoot is innocent._

_August 25th, 1994  
Muggles tortured at Quidditch World Cup by Death Eaters.  
Dark Mark in the sky._

_June 24th, 1995  
Fourth encounter with Voldemort.  
Returned to full power, kills Cedric._

_November 5th, 1995  
The D.A. created._

_June 13th, 1996  
Department of Mysteries, Death Eaters attack.  
Padfoot dies._

Harry realized at that moment, that these dates were excerpts from his own timeline chart from Divination. They were all the ones that Harry had wished he could erase, the ones that made him hate his life more than anything.

___But what does it mean_?? He cried out silently, nails digging into his forehead in frustration and pain. What did his divination chart have to do with anything?

Someone was shaking his shoulder.

He scrunched up his face in concentration. His head throbbing worse even, then the times his scar hurt whenever Voldemort tried to enter his mind.

___Stop!_ He begged himself in vain. He might have been pulling tufts of his hair out, it hurt so much...

Through the agony, he tried to remember what he'd learnt of his dream today.

Sirius was alive.

His parents were alive.

Malfoy was his friend.

There was no Order of the Phoenix.

He didn't have a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

And it came to him. It came to him exactly as if a lightbulb had been switched on somewhere. The pressure lifted off his head and he found that he could open his eyes again. Sirius had him grabbed by the shoulders, shaking him clamorously and calling his name over and over again. Malfoy's face had gone pale once more.

"Book!" shouted Harry, glancing at Malfoy urgently. "Get me a Divination text!"

"Wha-" both Malfoy and Sirius had released him and were looking very confused. _"__Divination text_? What for?"

"Just get me one!" he said again, more desperately.

"I think I've got my copy in my bag..." said Malfoy, whirling around to grab his bookbag that had conveniently been sitting in an empty chair. "Divination...." he began digging around in his bag, pulling out one book after another, shaking his head each time. Finally at the bottom of his bag, he found it and hurriedly brought it over to Harry, who snatched it up without even remembering to thank him, and began flipping pages by tens and twenties.

"Dammit! what was the page number?" Harry muttered to himself, his eyes scanning chapter titles every now and then. "Something about thepast... Past... past...."

"You mean, 'Past Becoming Future'?" Malfoy offered.

"Yes! That!" Harry exclaimed loudly, flipping back to the table of contents. He ran his thumb down the list of chapters and jabbed the page when he found the right one. "Page ninety-eight!"

Page ninety-eight was free of snitches and sketches of Malfoy doubling over. It was exactly how it should be.

Harry read down the instructions, making sure to reread each and every one carefully. By the end of the first paragraph, he could tell that he hadn't misread or misunderstood anything. He continued on.

'___First, swirl your cup five times until the dregs have resurfaced again. Then think the words, 'Un monde imaginaire' and proceed to drink the entire cup of tea.'_

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Harry could feel it in his chest. But what was it?

He steadied the paragraph again.

___Un monde imaginaire..._ Harry said silently to himself. ___Un monde imaginaire... _Then he remembered the footnote at the bottom of the page. He quickly shifted his gaze lower. It took him a few seconds to realize the walloping mistake he'd made.

"Oh shit." he swore in barely a whisper, covering his mouth in horror. He couldn't_believe_ his stupidity. Was this even possible?

___'An alternative form of soul interpretations that is remarkably similar to the one above, is one that many wizards and witches of the past have tried and failed. By replacing the incantation with "Un monde imaginaire", in most cases, the transformation of your past becomes permanent. It is here that it differs from the former spell. This particular spell is not solely for the purpose of divination. Most use it to alter their past to what they consider preferable.'_

The book fell to the floor with a thud.

It wouldn't have been unfitting if he passed out just now, Harry thought. His eyes weren't focused and although there was no longer any pain, he felt that his dizziness would have been equivalent to that of being knocked in the head with a Bludger. He couldn't tell if he was sweating or if he was shivering. He couldn't tell if he was talking out loud or if he was absolutely silent. He could only half-see Sirius and Malfoy staring back at him with knitted brows, as if they were trying to figure out what in the world was wrong with Harry.

So this wasn't a dream.

But neither was it an alternative universe.

He could hardly understand it himself, yet the answer was so simple. This world was a figment of his imagination; a world that hadn't existed until the moment he'd stepped foot in it. A world that had been created wholey from his mind, a perfection of his real life. No, it ___was_ his life now. So did that mean that the other life didn't exist anymore?

Panicked, would have been a very mild word to describe how Harry was feeling now. He was much beyond panicked. This hadn't been what he wanted at all. He wanted Sirius back, yes, but why was he friends with Malfoy? What about Ron and Hermione? Was he still in Gryffindor? Was he still known throughout the world? Or was he a nobody? A nobody that no one cared a damn about?

He was scared. Very scared. For the first time in his life. Not even Voldemort could spawn such fear. And Voldemort didn't even exist in this life...

What had he to do? Should he tell Sirius and Malfoy about it? Would they even understand? Or maybe Dumbledore would have an answer, like he always did.

"I need to see Dumbledore!" Harry said, his voice high pitched. He started climbing out of bed, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

"Again? But you just saw him!" Malfoy exclaimed, getting up from his chair too. "What's wrong? What just happened?"

"You should stay here until you're feeling better, Harry," said Sirius. He tried to force Harry back into bed, but Harry shied away from his touch, trembling.

Harry lowered his gaze and slipped on his shoes. He couldn't look him in the eye. "Don't come with me," he whispered, and he took off out the door.

Five minutes later, he was back in front of the stone Gargoyle, those swearwords on the tip of his tongue and his heart beating a mile a minute.

If he talked to Dumbledore, he was sure that a way would be found for him to return to his normal life. There wasn't anything that Dumbledore couldn't do. Was there?

He swallowed and continued to stare at the Gargoyle, who's face was hard and empty of emotions.

But what if Dumbledore ___couldn't_ find an answer? He only human, even though at times, he seemed so much more... but then, Harry remembered all those things Dumbledore had told him in his office after Sirius's death. How he'd kept the prophesy from Harry because each year, he still thought that Harry had been too young to deal with such shocking detail. How there were so many other things that he'd kept secret, knowning that Harry wouldn't be able to accept such facts so early in his life. How he'd argued with himself on countless occasions when face to face with Harry, between what was right, and what was true.

He ___was_ only human, Harry concluded silently. And with this thought, his chest tightened. It was something that he didn't want to acknowledge. Dumbledore had been his only aid through all this. But he was only human.

And then, other thoughts began to drift into his mind.

If they ___did_ happen to find a way to get Harry back, he would have to return to a world where his life was empty of Sirius. Of his parents... in this life, no one expected him to defeat a Dark Lord that could not be defeated. No one expected him to fulfill a stupid prophesy that an old fraud had voiced nearly two decades ago. This life seemed so much easier, and so less stressful... After all, ___this_. This was a life that had been created from scratch. Scratch that was Harry's deepest desires, hopes, dreams... it was supposed to be perfect in every way. Should he be complaining? Shouldn't he be ecstatic that he'd made the mistake in Divination?

___I should._ He realized, startled at his own stupidity. ___This is what I've wanted all along, right? This is what I wish my life would have been like... no Dursleys, parents who loved him, a healthy godfather, a calm life..._

The gargoyle wasn't looking so inviting anymore, to Harry's new found determination. He didn't need Dumbledore. He had a family, like all children should. He was going to be happy, something that he hadn't been for the longest time.

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked back to the infirmary, where his new life was waiting for him.

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**A/N  
**Lots of hormones and angsty anger, huh? Yeah, he needs to let it out!  
Please review! They feed me to write on! Thank you! XxXxXxXx_  
_


	7. I'm Not Even Gay!

**Chapter Seven  
**_I'm Not Even Gay!_

And so began Harry's new life in a perfect world. A perfect world that he knew nothing about and a perfect world where everything within it was simply... perfect.

Fearless, worryless, griefless, was the way life should _really_ be, Harry thought as he threw his arms around Sirius's neck and let the the happy tears fall onto the shoulder of his godfather's musky robes. This was how it was meant to be from the beginning.

He couldn't believe that he was actually touching Sirius now... it all seemed so surreal. He'd never really believed in second chances, but feeling his godfather's arms wrap gruffly around him in return; hearing the hearty laugh next to his ear; it was all enough to make him change his mind. Here was the living proof that death was never the end. He had Sirius.

He was barely listening to Sirius who was half chuckling, half gasping for air and trying to pry a clinging Harry off of him, who was squeezing all the oxygen out of his lungs.

"Dra - co! _Draco!_ Help-" Sirius panted, his face slowly turning purple. With Malfoy's help, he managed to detach Harry's arms from him and sat rubbing his neck with a slight wince. "What was that for, eh?" he wheezed, looking at Harry. "You really want me _that_ dead, do you?

Harry, who was wiping the steady stream of tears furiously with the back of his hand, gave a sobbing laugh and shook his head.

"So - sorry Sirius," he hiccuped. "I'm just really, _really_ gl - glad that you're here. You have no idea..." the words were tumbling out of his mouth clumsily, and he knew he probably sounded deranged, but he couldn't care less. If he could, he would have climbed to the top of the astronomy tower and shouted his joy for all the perfect world to hear.

"Right, well," Sirius smiled lopsidedly. "Looks like he's back to normal, wouldn't you say?" he turned to Malfoy, who's lips were twitching with amusement.

"I suppose so," Malfoy agreed offhandedly, reaching forward and thumping Harry's back to rid him of the bout of hiccups that had begun to attack him.

Grinning even wider, and looking very much like a happy dog, Sirius got up from his stool, barking, "Well then, this calls for a celebration! What do you say to a little trip down to the kitchens, Harry? Sure the house elves'll be plenty happy to whip up something good."

But Malfoy shot him an admonishing look. "We just _had _cauldron cakes and butterbeer - AND he's supposed to be in bed!"

Harry couldn't help but think that this Malfoy was more like Hermione in the other life... but then again, he didn't want to think about his other life, so he carelessly tossed that thought aside.

"Yeah, let's go," he agreed, his grin matching Sirius's. "Spent enough time sleeping - I want to _do_ something, now."

"Harry -" Malfoy said exasperatedly.

Harry faced Malfoy confidently, and he felt, that for the first time, his happiness hadn't diminished by Malfoy's mere existence.

"Then you can stay here," He swiftly caught the cloak that Sirius had thrown him. "And talk to yourself so that Madam Pomfrey will think that we're still here."

He almost laughed aloud at the affronted expression on Malfoy's face after he'd said that.

"I am NOT going to sit here talking to myself like some lunatic!" Malfoy screeched indignantly. "And you can't just _leave_ me!"

"Then don't argue and come with us, _Draco_," Harry smirked, looking over his shoulder as he and Sirius headed for the door.

Malfoy scowled at him and crossed his arms, watching them stubbornly for a few seconds before realizing that they really _were_ going to leave without him.

"Wait!" he shrieked, before grabbing his own cloak and dashing after them.

-------------------------------

"_Slytherin???_" Harry bellowed, choking on his pudding cake as the three were climbing back up the stairs with their arms laden with sweets and goodies. "You've GOT to be kidding me!"

"Huh?" Malfoy grunted distractedly, glaring at Sirius, who was trying to steal one of his eclairs. When he succeeded, Malfoy stormed after Sirius. "Hey! You've got your own, now give that back!"

"I thought _you_ were the one who didn't want any food in the first place." said Sirius, sarcastically, waving the eclair in front of Malfoy's face, and then stuffing it into his mouth before Malfoy could take it back.

"Ugn!" Malfoy let out a noise of rage and kicked Sirius hard in the shin. "What were you saying, Harry? Before Black_ rudely_ interrupted?" his still fuming grey eyes turned to him and Harry involuntarily balked an inch.

"Uh -" he stuttered. He'd half hoped that the other two hadn't heard him clearly, due to their busy arguments. It was something he'd accidentally let slip anyway. "Nothing."

"No, you shouted 'SLYTHERIN!', and then something after that." corrected Sirius, misreading the look on Harry's face for forgetfulness.

Harry laughed bleakly. "I was... cheering... because - I'm... happy to be in Slytherin?" _Gag._ Harry thought, suppressing a grimace.

At this, Malfoy smirked as if he were pleased and Sirius snorted.

"Happy to be in Slytherin my arse." the older man scoffed unpleasantly. "You should have been in Gryffindor like the rest of the Marauders, if you ask me. Dunno where it went wrong."

"You're just spiteful because you're jealous that he's in the same house as me." Malfoy said smugly, clearly enjoying the conversation. And while Sirius was busy muttering things and rolling his eyes, he sneakily stole one of Sirius's fruit tarts and winked at Harry.

_Alright, so maybe it's not a **completely** perfect life._ Harry thought with an inward sigh. Being in Slytherin was definitely not a good thing. _But._ A voice said inside his head. _I'd rather tough it out in Slytherin, than live without Sirius and my mum and dad._

It was then that he questioned the one thing that he'd wanted to ask ever since he'd come to accept this new life as his own. He hesitated before shifting his gaze to Sirius.

"Sirius?" he asked, hoping that he sounded aloof. "Am I going back home this year for the winter holidays?"

"It's up to you, isn't it? Why ask me?" returned Sirius.

"Are _you_ going to see them for Christmas?" Harry pressed on hopefully.

"Harry," Malfoy frowned. "You don't have to follow him everywhere like his bloody shadow. For once, why don't you do what _you_ want?"

Harry paused uncertainly. "Are you going home for Christmas?" he asked Malfoy.

He thought Malfoy gave him a fleeting look before fixing his gaze ahead and shrugging.

"Maybe," was his only reply.

"Doubt you'll have much fun though, at home. I mean, Lily's going to be gone until mid-January and you'll have to spend two weeks alone with your dad, and I." Sirius looked thoughtful. "Maybe we can persuade _him_ to visit Hogwarts instead."

Harry felt his heart fall. "My - my mum's going to be gone?"

Sirius nodded. "She told me she was going to take a long trip to Germany to help out some causes... volunteer work or something. She's a great woman."

Harry tried to respond with a convincing "yeah," but inside, he felt crestfallen. He wanted to see _both_ his mum and dad so much.

Then, he asked Sirius another thing that had been tugging at his conscience for a while and just hoped that they wouldn't think oddly of him. At least not anymore then they already did.

"Why are _you_ here, Sirius?"

"That's what I keep asking him!" Malfoy exclaimed suddenly, his perfectly contoured eyebrows furrowing. "Why do you keep popping up here at school every week? Don't you have a life of your own?"

Sirius looked slightly offended at this. "Of course I have a life of my own. I just like being here and seeing _Harry._" he said pertinently to Malfoy.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were here because you just hate being alone in that tiny house of yours all day." Malfoy retorted dryly.

"It's not tiny, and I don't mind being alone," ground Sirius, his expression cool but his tone highly miffed.

Harry decided to cut in before another quarrel began.

"Why aren't you and dad working together?"

"He's being a lazy ass," drawled Malfoy.

"Oh, and like you're going to work after you graduate?" snorted Sirius.

"No. Unlike you, my reason for unemployment would be because I have enough money to ensure that my grandchildren can safely live their lives without work. Therefore, _I_ won't work either."

"You're broke, Sirius?" Harry asked in shock. In the other life... he shook the thought away.

"If I was _broke_, how would I have given you that Quidditch pitch for your birthday?"

"_What??_" Harry cried, and for the second time, he swore silently and bit his tongue. "I mean... yeah. You're right."

He had a Quidditch pitch? Where? Harry was dazed beyond belief.

Malfoy clucked his tongue impatiently. "That's nothing to what I gave you Harry, remember?"

"A house buried in green and silver?" Sirius gibed. "Sickening really. Harry gets enough Slytherin at school, he doesn't need rubbish like that at home."

_A HOUSE???_ Harry was nearly flying off his feet in utter dubiety.

"You like it, don't you Harry?" Malfoy pursed his lips and glared at Harry, as if daring him to say anything otherwise.

And so the rest of the walk to the Slytherin dungeons went like this. Malfoy sparring at Sirius and Sirius reciprocating like he wasn't any older than seventeen. Like a duel of tug-a-war with Harry, who was occasionally demanded to agree with either.

But when they finally reached the cold slab of stone that Harry knew to be the Slytherin house's entrance, Sirius promptly managed to quench his anger and let them retreat into the common room with a 'goodnight'.

Harry soon found out that he shared the seventh year boy's dorm with Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle, much to his disgust and disappointment. He wondered if he would ever get to sleep with the two lugs snoring up a storm.

As he timidly entered the dormitory however, his disappointment was overrode by a severe uncomfortableness. Indeed, like Sirius had said, it was _very_ green and silver. Enough that he thought he might go temporarily blind. Everything; the bed sheets, the pillows, the rugs, the drapes, the walls... they were all either green or silver. The only other color he could see was the brown of the bedposts and orange of the fire burning in the lamps.

This, he thought, might keep him up far more effectively then Crabbe and Goyle's snoring. And that wasn't a very comforting thought.

There was also a coldness in the room. Not necessarily the temperature itself (although it _was_ very frigid down in the dungeons), but the look of the circular room was rather uninviting compared to his dormitory in Gryffindor. He decidedly blamed it on the coloring.

He slunk back and waited casually to see where Malfoy would go, to figure out which bed was his. It turned out that he was sandwiched between Malfoy's bed, and Zabini's bed. He walked over and hurriedly sat down, eager to sleep the rest of the night away so that he could see Sirius again in the morning. He'd forgotten to ask Sirius if he was staying overnight. He hoped so.

Harry had followed Malfoy's suit and dumped the cakes and cookies on one of the plush armchairs closest to Goyle's bed, and both he and Crabbe were now busily stuffing their faces happily. Harry couldn't remember a time where he'd thought that humans could look more like pigs than anything; the sight was very nauseating.

He looked at the floating clock near his bedside table and saw that it was already nearing midnight. Bidding a tired goodnight to his dorm mates, he climbed into his soft bed, which was heated to a perfect warmth by the bed warmer under the comforter. It felt nice.

That night, he dreamed again, of Ron and Hermione.

-------------------------------------

"Oy, get up." a lazy prod on his shoulder. "Harry, get your bum out of bed already."

Harry groaned irritably and plunked his pillow over his head.

"Few more minutes, Ron..." he slurred in a muffled voice, falling back to sleep.

He smiled to himself when he heard silence again. Ron had apparently given up.

"Uh... Harry?" said Ron again.

_Or not._ Harry thought, his hot breath fuming his face as he exhaled heavily.

"Fine..." he croaked, tossing the pillow off his head and rolling over onto his back. He squinted and lay a hand over his eyes to block out the bright sunlight. "Too bright..."

"Did you just say..." Ron began uneasily, and Harry could make out the blurred figure of Ron shifting uncertainly. But then, he got this eerie feeling that Ron's voice should be a little higher in pitch, and that even though his vision sucked at the moment, there should have been a blob of red somewhere where the head was...

He snatched his glasses swiftly from the table and jammed them onto his nose and let out a gasp.

"Za- _Zabini_???" Harry rasped, dashing his head against one of the posts in surprise. Rubbing the tender spot gingerly, he managed to crack open an eye to stare at Blaise Zabini, who was standing a foot away with a confused look on his face. "Wh- what..." he was about to ask what the HELL he was doing in Gryffindor tower, when he took in the excessive amount of _green_ around him. Green, green, green, green, green... he might as well have been sleeping in a pine forest.

Harry looked back at Zabini and became restless when he realized that Zabini was still gazing at him oddly.

"Er-" he said, shifting uneasily. His mind was still groggy from having just woken up, and it was working hard to figure out what was going on. "Am I supposed to be here?" he tried passively.

"Blaise, is he up for fuck's sake??" a sharp voice called through the open door.

Zabini paused for a moment before turning his head slightly, his eyes still glued on Harry's, and shouted back, "Yeah, he's up!"

Then, in came Malfoy who was gracefully shrugging into his school shirt and his tie slung around his neck, yet to be knotted. His black slacks were undone and his hair was slightly damp as if he'd just come out of the shower minutes before.

Harry blinked, his eyes fixed on the strip of pale skin peeking out from beneath the unbuttoned shirt. He shook his head and exclaimed, "Malfoy!"

Malfoy shot him a cold look and picked up a comb from his own table.

"Will you stop calling me 'Malfoy'? It's unnerving."

Everything had come back to Harry's memory and he was sitting half stunned on his bed with his disheveled hair and ruffled pajamas. He was aware that he probably looked very rugged compared to primped Malfoy.

"What?" Malfoy snapped, carefully doing up his buttons.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, clearing his throat and getting up off his bed. "S'ppose I should take a shower."

"You've only got ten minutes." Zabini spoke up, pointing at the clock. "Better hurry."

Harry nodded, and trying to look as if he was completely used to it, stooped down to open a trunk that he'd never seen before, but had his initials engraved upon it, and dug through a mound of clothing and books to find his school robes and a towel. He was pleasantly surprised to see that his trunk was empty of all oversized hand-me-downs from his cousin Dudley and instead, had clothing that looked as if they might actually fit him.

After retrieving everything he needed, he waved jerkily to Malfoy and Zabini and sidled out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later he was rushing down the spiraling staircase to the common room; his bookbag swinging wildly from his elbow and his fumbling hands struggling blindly with his necktie.

Malfoy and Zabini were already walking out of the wall and into the corridor outside, chatting carelessly, and closely followed by Pansy Parkison, Crabbe, and Goyle. Pansy, however, was clinging more than following. Her arms were wrapped possessively around Malfoy's upper arm and she was admiring Malfoy's side face raptly. It made Harry want to puke.

Harry sprinted after them, finally managing to get his clothing on straight and chest heaving, caught up with them at the stairs.

Malfoy gave him a reproving look and rolled his eyes.

"Can't you _ever_ do anything right?" he sighed, stopping and slipping his arm out of Pansy's death grip to reach over and tug at the lumpy knot in Harry's tie. Harry personally thought that that was quite an insulting thing to say, considering that they were supposed to be friends. He wouldn't say that to Ron, and Ron would never say that to him.

He felt himself redden and jerked away.

"I can do my own tie, thanks." he said defiantly, and fumbled some more with his _green_ and_ silver_ tie. He hadn't had time to look in the mirror, but he imagined that he looked absolutely horrible in Slytherin colors. If only it were nearing summer, then he'd be able to rid his attire of the Slytherin emblem emblazoned robe and tie.

"Then do it right the first time," Malfoy smirked, tugging once more at Harry's robes in a somewhat playful manner.

Feeling very aggravated, Harry strode past the group and climbed the stairs up to the ground floor, taking the steps two at a time. Maybe this Malfoy wasn't so different from the one he knew, after all. He still seemed very unbearable and an unhealthy pain in the arse. Being friends with Malfoy hadn't been on his wish-list anyway. He could do just as well- no, even _better _without.

Upon entering the Great Hall that was packed with students and teachers, he instinctively started for the table on the far right, but caught himself just in time. He stood motionless for a few minutes, fists clenched and mouth working hard against the desire to simply ditch Slytherin all together and announce his allegiance to Gryffindor. Perhaps if he tried a resorting, the hat would put him in Gryffindor, where he actually belonged.

He felt an extreme longing when he saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the middle of the long table, talking heartily and laughing when Ron accidentally flicked some jam onto his own face in an attempt to spread it on his toast. Hermione was smiling as she bent over the fruit bowl with a paper napkin in her hand to wipe it off. Ron blushed a bit and he tried to lean back without making it look too awkward. Harry imagined himself with them. It was a day since he'd talked to Ron, but he was already missing him like crazy.

"Harry!" a voice snapped from behind him. He whirled around and found that Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins had entered the Great Hall too. "What are you doing? Come on."

Glancing once more at his former best friends, he slumped resignedly and followed after Malfoy, never noticing the frown on Zabini's face as he walked past. They sat down at the table to the far left and began loading their plates with breakfast.

"Potions," Harry moaned when he saw his day schedule, munching hungrily on his buttered toast. "Ugh."

Things weren't looking to good and it was still morning. He then wondered curiously if the Snape in this life hated him just as much as in the other life.

_Probably,_ he thought sourly, looking up at the teacher's table where Snape and his sallow skin and greasy hair was sipping from his goblet slowly, eyes roving over the heads of the students. Even if _some_ things were better, Snape's hatred for his father was more likely to be the same.

Sooner than he would have liked, he was dragging his feet along the main corridor, down the stairs back to the Slytherin dungeons, past Snape's office, and into the dim and dank Potions classroom. Owing to the fact that there were no windows to let in sunlight, and that the only source of heat was coming from the meager sticks of wax floating around the room, it was very, very cold. Harry could see his breath coming out in white puffs.

He followed Malfoy to the back of the classroom on the Slytherin side, and reluctantly sat down in a desk he was sharing with Malfoy. Blaise and Pansy claimed the desk behind them, and Crabbe and Goyle squished themselves into the one behind that. The room looked considerably different from this side, Harry noted none too happily. And it wasn't a surprise, as he was surrounded by sneering Slytherins and not the cheerful raucous of the Gryffindors.

Harry couldn't help but watch as the students clad in scarlet ties, began to trickle through the door in large groups noisily. He felt that now familiar pang in his chest when Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, and Seamus appeared behind Lavender and Parvati. They seated themselves near the front; Hermione and Neville sharing a table, and Ron joining Dean and Seamus in one of the longer tables near the wall.

Just as they settled down, Snape swept into the class, his face as grim as usual and his black robes and cloak billowing out behind him. Harry scowled.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for disrupting class." Snape said smoothly, and tapped his wand onto the attendance roll on his desk. Harry saw Ron shooting death glares at Snape as he went down the list, calling out names in a cold voice.

The rest of the Slytherins were looking very gleeful at Gryffindors loss, and Harry scowled even more. Damn Slytherins. Damn all of them.

He slouched into his seat moodily and toyed with his quill impatiently as Snape finished up roll and tapped the parchment again, making it pop and disappear into thin air.

"Page three hundred and sixteen," he said. "And absolute silence until you finish reading it. Those that choose to talk will receive detention."

The class obediently pulled out their books and simultaneously flipped open to page three hundred and sixteen, and then, there was silence.

Harry didn't even make the effort to read the tiny scripture on the pages. He was rarely in the mood, and today, he was definitely not. He had too much on his mind.

One, he was still a bit nervous about the whole life switch. Two, he wanted to talk to Ron more than anything, and three, he was very much distracted by the steady in and out of Malfoy's breath, only a foot away.

He casually snuck a glance at him and studied him for a bit longer than he would have personally liked. Malfoy was very intently reading, his eyes piercing the yellowed pages and flickering back and forth. His cheek resting in his palm and his face turned slightly toward Harry. His sleek blonde hair falling over his eyes and the impatient brush of his free hand on the occasional strand at his forehead.

Malfoy seemed to have felt his gaze because he looked up swiftly and caught his eyes, as if to say, _'What?'_.

Harry immediately felt his ears reddening and turned his head away sharply, pinching himself. When he was composed enough to look back up at the rest of the class, he realized that most were already done reading, and were staring silently at Snape, waiting for the next instructions.

The class was so quiet, that even though Snape was talking in barely a whisper, they could hear every word sharply as if he were shouting them. Crossing his arms, he walked up to the middle aisle, between Gryffindor and Slytherin glared at each and every student, starting at the back row.

"Brown! Patil! Work together."

The girls looked relieved.

"Crabbe! Goyle!"

They however didn't look any different from thick.

"Thomas! Finnigan!"

Seamus and Dean grinned.

"Parkison! Nott!"

Pansy frowned disappointedly, but quickly hid it when she caught Harry looking at her.

"Granger! Longbottom! And I expect Longbottom to do every bit of his work, or I will deduct house points." Snape snarled nastily.

Neville let out a frightened 'meep!' but Hermione gave a stony eye to Snape and pursed her lips.

"Malfoy! Zabini!"

Harry sighed with relief at knowing he was _not_ going to be paired with Malfoy and sat up straighter. He noted that he was the only Slytherin left.

A sinister smile spread across Snape's ugly face, as he paused, glancing slowly back and forth between the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

"Ah yes." he sneered softly, apparently very pleased. "How perfect." his beetle black eyes bore into Harry's. "Potter.... and _Weasley._"

Harry's heart jumped against his ribcage, and the feeling of joy spread through him as he quickly glanced over at Ron, who to his dismay, was looking crestfallen. He might have gone up and hugged Snape for putting them together, if he didn't hate him first.

"Now get to work!" Snape snarled to the rest of the class when the tension had subsided. There was a loud noise of chairs scraping as the students moved to either sit with their partners or to get up to retrieve their potion ingredients.

Without a moment's hesitation, Harry made his way across the aisle over to where Ron was sitting by himself and grinned warmly.

"Hey," he greeted, pulling out chair and sitting down. "Ron, right?"

Ron's facial muscles clenched as he shrugged. "Yeah," he said.

"So." Harry dumped his tattered potions book onto the table, along with his quill and a fresh roll of parchment. "Should I do the logging or do you want to?"

"Don't care," was Ron's apathetic reply.

Harry tried to sound as cheerful as possible. "I guess I'll do it then."

"Right. So I'll go get the stuff..." Ron hastened away from the table to the student cupboard almost as if he _wanted_ to get as far away as possible from Harry.

_Duh._ He thought sadly. _He **does** want to get away from me. I'm a bloody Slytherin._

He however, made up his mind to talk with Ron as if nothing was different from what Harry was used to. When Ron came back with his arms full of weeds and dead bugs, he launched into a bright conversation about loathing Potions and loving Quidditch, claiming that Gryffindor was sure to win the house cup this year and that he had a hunch that Ron would be receiving some award for Captain. It seemed that his efforts were slowly beginning to thaw Ron's coldness toward him too, and little by little, the conversation was becoming less one-way, and more back and forth, which thrilled Harry very much.

They were even starting to say jokes about what a big-nosed, greasy-haired pain in the arsehole Snape was, and chuckling quietly behind their hands, and then hunching over their desks with diligent looks on their faces when Snape strode by with his nose upturned.

When Harry looked back up for the fifth time since the beginning of class, his eye roamed over to the Slytherin side and and saw that Malfoy was glaring at him icily, his stiff hands chopping the beetle angrily, sending legs and chunks scattering across the table surface.

At first, it didn't affect him at all, and it seemed perfectly normal; after all, Malfoy was always glaring or smirking at him and Ron... but then he remembered that wasn't in Gryffindor and that Ron wasn't his friend, Malfoy was.

He felt his mood slipping even more and he fell back to scribbling on his parchment in silence. He could still feel Malfoy's eyes on the back of his neck, but he tried to ignore it.

A few minutes later, he couldn't help but glance back; Zabini was leaning forward across his desk to whisper something to Malfoy. Both looked very grave, and whatever Zabini was saying to Malfoy was obviously riling him up even more.

Harry wondered what that was all about, as the bell rung and the students began to pack up their bags. Harry waited as Ron gathered his things up, hoping to maybe invite himself along with Ron and Hermione on the next Hogsmeade trip, only two days away.

Hermione came up next to Ron, smiling at him before sending a curt nod to Harry, but Harry would have none of that.

"Hi," he grinned, extending his hand. He felt extremely foolish acting like strangers to people he knew so well, but it was something he had to do, whether he liked it or not. "Potter. Harry Potter. But you can call me Harry."

Ron nodded at Hermione encouragingly, and Hermione slowly took his hand and shook it.

"Hermione Granger," she replied politely. She was eyeing him a bit suspiciously. She quickly let go and stepped closer to Ron.

"I was wondering, do you two want to go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday? I've got no one to go with, and I thought it might be fun." Harry said brightly. Ron and Hermione looked at each other uncertainly.

"Uh..." it seemed that Ron was doing some weighing in his head. He kept glancing at the rest of the Slytherins who were trailing out the door. "I dunno..."

"If it's any funny business you've got planned up your sleeve, we'll cordially decline." said Hermione, but Harry shook his head.

"No, I just want to get to know the Gryffindors better. I'm not much of a Slytherin myself, see." They looked confused.

Hermione frowned. Harry wasn't sure if she entirely believed him, but she finally agreed after a moment's pause. "Well then, I suppose so... Interaction between houses _is_ important, after all." Harry grinned.

"Great," he replied, hoping that he didn't look too ecstatic. "Well, I'll talk to you guys later, then." And he turned around and strode out of the classroom coolly.

But when he stepped into the corridors, he was met by a very furious Malfoy and a disgusted looking Zabini and Pansy.

"What. Was that." Malfoy spat, his grey eyes swirling insanely.

Harry furrowed his brows. "What was what?"

"You were chatting with Gryffindors, and Weasley and a mudblood at that." Malfoy took a dangerous step closer, and Harry could almost see veins throbbing at Malfoy's pale temple. "And were my ears deceiving me? Or did I actually _hear_ you inviting them to Hogsmeade?"

"Er-" Harry said, suddenly feeling very uneasy. He hadn't thought of what the aftermath might be of his actions. He cleared his throat and shifted backwards. "Maybe?"

"FUCKING HELL!" Malfoy exploded, his cheeks flaring red. "Why??? _Why the bleeding hell did you invite them to Hogsmeade_???"

Harry felt his own anger bubbling inside his chest. He took a bold step forward and glared at Malfoy.

"Why shouldn't I?" he snapped. "I don't need your bloody permission do I?"

Malfoy hissed like a snake and pushed him accusingly against the wall.

"You've got something for that shithead, don't you?" his eyes were no longer full of fury, they were icy and deadly. Harry recoiled slightly.

Despite the lack of gaiety in the situation, he let out a short, tight-throated laugh.

"You mean, you think I have a thing for Hermione?" He imagined Ron's face if he'd heard that and snorted further. "Well, sorry to say, but I'm not really interested in her as _that_..."

"Maybe the _Weasel_, then?"

There was a pause, and Harry fell silent. He stared back at Malfoy incredulously, not believing what he'd just heard.

"_What_?" he stammered. He almost crammed his finger into ear to see if he had any earwax buildup.

He saw an exchange between Malfoy and Zabini and Malfoy stepped back, looking a mix of infuriated, betrayed, and hurt.

"Fine." Malfoy whispered, his face paling. "Have it your way."

And whirled on his heel and walked away without a backward glance.

Harry was left standing against the wall in the now deserted corridor, not knowing what in the world had just happened.

_Me?_ _Like Ron?_ That had to be the most absurd thing he'd ever heard in his life.

_I'm not even GAY!_ _  
_

**Please review! And thank you to all who have! Once again, I apologize that this story is slow in the rise, but the plot is quite complex and so it takes that long to get going. Thank you.  
**_zoomaphonethepirate - THANKS!_  



	8. Of Secret Admirers and Bubblebaths

**A/N  
**Here's chapter EIGHT! Yay! The chapter ending is sort of abrupt, do to the fact that I had to cut it off there in order for it to stay a reasonable length. I'll upload the rest of it as Chapter Nine as soon as I can, but for now, enjoy this!

Also, thank you for the many wonderful reviews. I loved them all and was so incredibly happy when I read them! They really inspire me to keep writing! So thank you and keep those reviews coming!

Special note to:  
**_Ahja Reyn - _**_Ahh, you've spotted a clever point in my story, but it's too early to reveal that yet. I assure you however, that I have not messed with the sorting hat's reason to put Harry in Gryffindor. (Well, perhaps a tiny bit, but you'll see later on). :)  
_

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**Chapter Eight  
**_Of Secret Admirers and Bubblebaths  
_**  
**Harry was enjoying a rather lonely lunch that noon, and he would have liked it perhaps, if the air surrounding him wasn't so uncomfortable.

_Uncomfortable._ That seemed to be a word that he thought often, ever since he'd found himself in this new life. It was, of course and without a doubt because he was in Slytherin. And because he was friends with a prat like Malfoy. Who in their right mind would _want_ to be friends with him in the first place? Only people who were either too daft to take responsibility of their choices, or people who were insufferably prattish themselves. Harry told himself quite firmly, that he was neither.

Yet, for some reason, he couldn't help but feel conscious about the fact that Malfoy was sitting across from him at the long table, between Pansy and Blaise, completely ignoring Harry. Acting as if the place between Crabbe and Nott was a mere gap that was tiny enough to fit a fly.

He didn't know whether he wanted to continue on with this (after all, shouldn't it be better this way?), or if he wanted to dump his brimming goblet of pumpkin juice over that perfectly combed blonde head before him. He supposed Malfoy would kill him if he did the latter, and truth be told, Harry wasn't _quite_ ready to kick the bucket yet.

For the first twenty minutes of lunch, he'd done well ignoring Malfoy back by searching eagerly through the crowded Great Hall for any sign of either Sirius or Padfoot, but to his great disappointment, neither had shown hide or hair. Then, he focused his attention on the Gryffindor table, watching enviously as a certain redhead and a certain bushy brownhead and a certain plump toothy-grin-wearing boy ate their own lunch way across the hall.

This earned him another foul look from Blaise and so he reluctantly tore his gaze away from the Gryffindors and returned it to Malfoy who was picking at his food moodily and staring down at his full plate.

Somehow, to Harry's eyes, it seemed that he wasn't the only one that was feeling uncomfortable about being there. He couldn't really understand why Malfoy would feel uncomfortable, but he supposed that it was because he was furious at Harry for mingling with students from other houses. Maybe in Slytherin, they called those sort of people that did things like that, _Traitors_. It definitely sounded crude enough to be worthy of the Slytherin mouth.

Harry sighed audibly and tossed down his fork. He wasn't hungry anymore, thanks to Malfoy. He was still feeling a bit nauseous about the exclamation from his 'friend' down in the dungeons. Why oh why did Malfoy have to be such a sick-minded, dunce-headed jerk? Just because he decided to talk to Ron (who, in fact was a _far_ better friend to Harry than Malfoy would ever be), it didn't automatically mean that he _liked_ him in _that_ way. Or maybe Slytherins were so inferior to the rest of the school that they had their own sexual system, where gender didn't really matter. A uni-sex circle or something of the sort.

Harry smiled at the idea out of pure amusement and took a long sip of his pumpkin juice.

This entertaining image however, was cleaned away brusquely when his mind began drifting toward the fact that one way or another, he'd eventually ditch Malfoy and the rest of the uni-sex gods and goddesses to reunite with his own people. The very thought of remaining in Slytherin was jokeable to Harry and he was determined to go to the extremest of extremes to be known once more as 'The Golden Trio'. Not that he liked the name (it was actually quite annoying), but it was much better than whatever clique he was in now.

As he stared hazily at Malfoy, he then began to wonder... _Why were he and Malfoy friends?_ The question was inevitable, and Harry hated to admit the fact that it had been bothering him since the minute he'd known he was friends with Malfoy.

He and Malfoy were from very opposite families. The Malfoys were purely pureblooded, aristocratic, evil, and heartless. The Potters were everything else. The Malfoys lived for power and for wealth; they would without a doubt, do anything for the both, including queuing up to join into Voldemort's rank. The Potters detested the dark arts and all that touched it. They lived for good, and for love.

That's why his mum and dad had been murdered in the first place. Well, not directly of course, because the reason they'd died was because of Harry himself, but hadn't Voldemort tried to kill _him_ because he was the one that could vanquish the Dark Lord? And so wouldn't that mean that Harry, _and_ his parents that tried to protect him, were _not_ supporters of the dark?

So now, it all narrowed down to his past. His past that he knew nothing about. What in the world had _happened_ before his arrival, that had created such a friendship between him and Malfoy? It was all so confusing.

_"You should have been in Gryffindor like the rest of the Marauders, if you ask me. Dunno where it went wrong."_

Those had been Sirius's words.

_Where **did** it go wrong?_ Harry wondered in frustration. If his parents were in Gryffindor, shouldn't HE be in Gryffindor too? There wasn't a single, not a _single_ reason that he would elect Slytherin to reside seven years of his life in... was there?

_Maybe... maybe my friendship with Malfoy had to do with it..._

NAH. Harry frowned. That didn't seem like a thing that was likely to have gone through Harry's mind... he wasn't that stupid, was he? Or was he?

When he glanced back at Malfoy, he found the formerly occupied seat empty of him. Slightly surprised, he turned his head quickly just in time to see Malfoy's retreating back, disappearing through the double doors of the Great Hall. Harry bit his lip, contemplating what his next move should be.

He could go on acting as if he hadn't noticed a thing... or he could use this time to corner Malfoy and bombard him with questions about his past... but Malfoy was obviously still upset, and it wasn't likely that he would be willing to deal with him. Especially not when the questions were ones that Harry should be able to answer for himself.

But then again, if he was planning on keeping his 'real' identity a secret, he would have to learn as much as he could about himself in this life so that he could go on unsuspected by anyone.

_AND._ He thought as he scrambled off his bench, grabbing his bookbag and swinging it over his shoulder. _I've got to prove that I'm NOT gay OR unisex._

With that, he dashed in the trail of Malfoy and out the doors into the chilly main entrance hall. He turned this way and that, trying to catch where the blonde had gone off too, and he picked up his pace again when he saw a black robe hem whip around the corner.

"Malfoy! I mean - Draco!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty corridors. "Draco! Wait up!"

Malfoy stopped after a few more steps but didn't turn around. It was clear to see that he had stiffened and crossed his arms at the sound of Harry's voice.

"Draco - wait - up." Panting heavily, he caught up with Malfoy and bent over, hands on his knees.

"What do you want?" asked Malfoy, his voice colder than the air. He wasn't looking at Harry though, he was picking at his nail with a bored expression on his face.

Harry supposed that that action was not unlike his own nervous habit of running his hand through his hair. Except for Malfoy, it wasn't a nervous habit, it was an angry habit.

"Er - could we - talk?" he said carefully, standing up straight once more and readjusting his bag.

Malfoy snorted. "There's nothing to talk about." He made to walk away, so Harry took hold of his forearm. Malfoy's eyes flashed at him and Harry thought he might pull out his wand, but Malfoy only stared at the hand clamped onto his own arm and then pursed his lips.

Harry hastily let go and stuffed his hands in his robe pockets. Trying to feign a look of casualness, he managed a half smile, half frown.

"Uh -" he started, scratching his neck. "I dunno really, but uh - I think I didn't quite hear you well down in the dungeons..." he faltered and tried to read the expression on Malfoy's face. It was neutral.

"You heard me perfectly well." Malfoy replied and yanked his arm away.

Harry searched for the right words, if there were any. "So... so you think I - I have a _thing_ for Ron?"

Malfoy sneered. "Well you're obviously close enough to call each other by first name, something you seem to have trouble doing with _me, _so I wouldn't doubt it."

_Damn it._ Another mistake.

"He still calls me Potter," he said hopefully, thinking that it might do some good. "I only call him 'Ron' because er - I don't... like his surname." _Sorry Ron._

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "A likely story, Harry. You'll have to do better next time." And he turned around, but Harry caught his arm for the second time. Malfoy whirled around with an exasperated glare.

"WHAT?" he snapped nastily.

Harry felt himself blush slightly as he thought of what he was going to say next.

"I'm - I'm not GAY," he blurted out perhaps a notch too loudly. "I mean... I don't fancy men." He clamped his mouth shut and blushed even more.

Malfoy, to his surprise didn't look relieved at the news. In fact, he didn't look _anything_ upon hearing his bold pronouncement. His lips just formed a tiny 'Oh'.

"Well, good for you, so will you let go of me now?"

Harry didn't know what else to do, so he simply nodded and released Malfoy's arm.

"So you don't think I like Ron now, do you?" he asked hastily.

Malfoy studied him for a long moment before turning around and walking away, not a word of reply coming out of his mouth. Harry felt very upset at that and called Malfoy's name sharply, but the blonde didn't stop this time. And Harry was once more left alone in the middle of the corridor.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it. _Harry cursed furiously to himself, punching his bookbag and hearing a crunch. He groaned and peeped into his bag; he'd cracked his ink bottle in half and the black ink was now seeping through all of his books and parchment. _DAMMIT!_

Things were definitely not looking good for him. Not at all.

_Well,_ Harry sighed as his attempted a half-successful cleaning charm on his possessions. _I'll just have to prove it to his face then._

--------------------------------------

On Friday, Harry spent all of his classes and eating breaks, not to mention after-dinner-common-room sessions going around and talking to as many girls as he could. He didn't openly flirt with them really, as he thought he might be sick considering the fact that they were all Slytherin girls, but he struck up enough conversation that he got them laughing and smiling widely. He avoided Pansy and Millicent because he knew that Pansy adored Malfoy, and Millicent... well Millicent was a whole different story. She wasn't anything close to his type anyway.

He made sure that Malfoy was in sight and within hearing distance when he walked up to a girl. He'd then proceed to ask about some homework, or talk about the weather, and even though he knew that they were pretty dull topics of conversation, they seemed to work well enough on the girls.

Malfoy wasn't showing any signs of having noticed Harry's hard work though. Not even by the end of the day, and it was getting more and more on Harry's already on-the-edge nerves. He would have to do this, or think of something new until he had firmly convinced Malfoy that he was a straight as straight could be.

It wasn't that he was homophobic or anything, but it was still quite nettling to be mistaken as gay, when he wasn't. Looking around at the quiet Slytherin common room, he wondered briefly, how many of the people here _were_ actually homosexual. Then, realizing the atrociousness of his wandering mind, he snapped out of his reverie and busied himself with his homework.

The one happy thought that accompanied him into his sleep hours later, was the one about going to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione tomorrow. At last, he would be able to spend some time with _real_ people who had _real_ minds, and didn't have problems with trust, and more importantly, didn't accuse you of being gay just because you had male friends.

-------------------------------

The next morning, Harry was awoken by a searing pain on his forehead, like a knife cutting through his skin and deep into his skull. He shot up in bed, breathing as if he'd just run a mile and sweat dripping down his face and clinging to his bed clothes.

He'd dreamt of a tall hooded figure. A tall hooded figure with a skeletal hand, holding a long wand and pointing it at something in the dark distance. The air surrounding this figure was grey, a sickly grey, and swirling like a soundless tornado.

Then a second figure had come crawling into the scene. It was a man, from the burliness of the shoulders, shrouded in the Death Eater's cloak and mask. He was bowing his head down on one knee and kissing the hems of the robes of the one standing.

He was whispering something... his voice fast and urgent... he was informing the first about something important... what it was, Harry could not hear.

The standing figure let out a cackling laugh that split the air and made goosepimples rise on Harry's skin. The wind began to roar louder, the robes flapping wildly; happy, wouldn't have been a word too fitting for the dark, evilness of the figure, but he was definitely pleased about whatever the kneeling man had said to him.

The tall figure, still laughing maniacally, raised his wand and pointed it at the man before him.

"Avada Kedavra," and the man was dead.

That was when Harry had woken up.

His chest was still heaving a bit heavily, but his heart had somewhat stopped his furious beating against his ribcage.

He knew who that figure had been. There was no mistaking that voice... and that cackle of pleasure... and the way that unforgivable curse had easily slipping from his lips as if it were merely a greeting...

But why was he dreaming of Voldemort? Voldemort didn't exist in this world, at least from what he knew so far. Or had he been wrong in assuming that all darkness was simply inexistent in this life? Was Tom Marvollo Riddle still alive? And if he was, was he just a normal half-blooded wizard, living his old age? Or was he something else?

Harry rubbed madly at the now fading pain in his forehead and buried his face in his hands. This was much too confusing. He'd expected this life to be easy to deal with; it was everything he wanted after all.

He wearily climbed quietly out of his bed, so as not to wake his sleeping dorm mates, and walked over to the mirror on the wall beside Malfoy's bed. He lowered his hand when he stepped before his reflection, and sighed. His confusion was only building.

His forehead was still free of any scar, yet it had hurt when he'd dreamed of Voldemort. Why was that?

He jumped when a soft rustling sounded from next to him and he turned his head in alarm, but it was only Malfoy, shifting in his sleep. Harry could still hear steady breathing, which meant he hadn't woken up.

A thousand questions were throbbing inside his head, all in terrible need of answering, but there was no one he could ask. Not if he wanted to keep anyone from figuring out the truth. In this life, not even Sirius could help him much, except to simply be there for Harry as a godfather. Nothing more.

He tried to push away the loneliness in his chest, because he knew that it wouldn't do to dwell on things that were pointless to dwell on about. He'd chosen this life over the other, and so there would obviously be those consequences he'd have to deal with. This was just all something he had to ignore and get over. All this Voldemort stuff was probably just part of the old plague from his old life. With time, it would come to disappear, just like his scar.

Feeling slightly more relaxed, he sank down onto his mattress, thoughts of sleep chased out him completely. The floating clock told him that it was still six thirty and the sun wouldn't be rising until well after seven.

He decided to examine the contents of his trunk more closely. He hadn't been able to do that the past two days because he thought it might look suspicious with the rest of them watching.

He noiselessly crept down onto the cold wooden floor and tiptoed over to his trunk, trying to avoid as much creaking as possible when he lifted the heavy lid and propped it onto the footboard of his bed.

He grabbed his wand from his nightsand and lit a ball of light, making sure that the light was dim enough to keep his dorm mates sleeping, but light enough to see what he was looking at.

He'd gone through the clothing he had previously, but deeper down, he knew that there must be other things besides school robes and size-accurate shirt and jeans. He sifted through the messy pile carefully, looking at each and every item he found.

A smile crossed his face when he came across a cloak made of a silvery material that flowed over his hands as if it were water. So he'd found something that was the same in both lives. The invisibility cloak had been his father's and he supposed that he'd gotten it straight from him instead of Dumbledore.

Things that were missing included the pocket sneak-o-scope (a present from Ron, so obviously absent), mismatching socks from Dobby (he probably didn't even know Dobby now), and the Marauder's Map. The last item was a bit of a disappointment to Harry, as the timeworn piece of parchment had been one of his most prized possessions next to his father's cloak and his Firebolt. He wondered why he didn't have the map in this life. Shouldn't he? Since it was partly his father's too?

_But I got it from Fred and George._ _And Fred and George knicked it from Filch's office. And Filch confiscated it from dad and his friends when they were at school, so of course I wouldn't have it._

He went back to digging through his stuff.

By the time he'd checked through all that looked even slightly significant, which wasn't much, he was getting a bit bored and was about to shut his trunk when he noticed a very inconspicuous pocket on the inner lid of the trunk. It was bulging slightly as if there was something in it.

Curious, he slipping his hand into the pocket and pulled out a handful of envelopes; all the same size and all the same creamy color.

He furrowed his brows and brought his wandlight closer to the bundle, trying to read the curving scripture on the front of one of the envelopes.

_To Harry,_ was all it had written on it. Expecting them to be letters from his friends and family, he opened it and extracted a neatly folded piece of matching parchment.

_Dear Harry, _the first line read.  
_Happy Birthday. I hope you are having a wonderful birthday this year as it's your becoming-of-age birthday. I've sent a small present with this letter, and even though it's not very big, it's from my heart and I want you to have it.  
It's sad to have to think that this year will be the last year of being in school together, and also the last year that I can continue to send these letters to you. It breaks me to know that by next fall, you'll have gone on with your life, and I with mine. Although, for me, you will never leave my heart, no matter how much time comes to pass. I will always love you even while knowing it will be useless in the end.  
You are the blood in my veins that keep me alive, and the beating of my heart that pumps that blood. Don't ever forget that._

Harry gaped silently at the letter. He turned it over to see if there was a name or anything that might hint the sender, but there was nothing. It sounded more like a love letter than anything, any it most definitely wasn't from his parents or Sirius. It had to be from a student at Hogwarts, from what this person had written. And what was this about this being useless in the end? It was almost as if this person had long since confessed their love to Harry, who refused, but kept on writing him these letters. It seemed very messed up.

Shaking his head, he put the letter back into it's envelope and looked at the one beneath that.

It was from the same person. It was addressed to him in the same neat writing.

He opened that one up too.

_Dear Harry,  
Today I watched you while you studied in the Library. You were alone at the table in the far corner. You were working on your Potions homework and struggling with one of the questions because you kept checking the book to look for the right answer.  
And then, you fell asleep, right on top of that book.  
You looked so peaceful, so beautiful, that I wanted to wrap my arms around you and hold you close. I wanted to whisper your name in your ear and see you smile. I wanted to kiss you. But I didn't. I kept my distance, and I will, until it'll be too late.  
And by then, you'll be far away and I'll be all alone._

Harry's stomach did a fluttery flip-flop after reading that one. He wasn't sure if he should be flattered, or if he should be angry about being spied on. Whoever this person was, they seemed to be serious about Harry. Too serious maybe. He opened the next one, also from the same person. It was slightly shorter.

_Dear Harry,  
You were amazing during the Quidditch match this afternoon, like you always are. I wish I could have taken pictures, that way, I could watch you play on forever. I love you most when you are flying. You look so natural, so intense, so incredible. And then, after the games, your face is always beaming because you've caught the Snitch again, and your hair is windswept and so delicious looking.  
If only you could know who I was... then I wouldn't have to watch you in secret. It's painful, but I've come to accept it._

Harry's throat felt very dry at this point, he refolded the letter and stuck it back into the empty envelope. One glance at the pile told him that there were about fifty letters, if not more, but he didn't need to read them all. He knew more or less what they would contain.

He also knew at this point, that he actually didn't know the sender anyway, whether or not he'd come from a different life. They were all anonymous and in the last letter, the sender had said that he didn't know their identity. It was sort of eerie and unnerving now that Harry thought about it. This mystery person was sounding more and more like a stalker, than a secret admirer.

Maybe if had time later, he would try to solve the puzzle and crack out who the writer was. He had too much on his mind at the moment anyway.

Stuffing the letters unneatly back into the pocket, he shut his lid quietly and climbed back into his bed.

He was surprised to see that the sun was already beginning to rise in the eastern horizon, and for a moment, he sat thinking that this was odd, as the Slytherin dormitories were supposed to be underground. Then he remembered the charmed windows at the Ministry of Magic, and the ceiling in the great hall. These windows were probably charmed as well to show the outside scenery.

The clock now read seven-thirty. It was hard to believe that an hour had already passed just by reading those letters. He must have been considering them for longer than he thought.

Yawning and stretching, he stood up and scanned the room once more. Everyone was still sleeping soundly, as it was a Saturday. So he decided to take a shower, or maybe even a long bath. He had plenty of time.

Walking with light footsteps, he exited the dormitory and into the seventh year's bathrooms across the landing.

One thing he'd been surprised about, upon his first trip to the bathroom, was that it wasn't a communal bathroom, like what the Gryffindors had. There were about six different bathrooms connected to the main room with the wash basin, and they all had lockable doors. Harry considered the Slytherins to be very spoiled. It was not quite fair.

He chose the bathroom farthest from the main door and slipped inside. It was like a smaller version of the prefects bathroom; in the middle of the room, there was a circular tub with at least five golden knobs, and closer along the wall, there was a shower stall encircled by foggy glass. There was a stack of fresh green towels on the counter and numerous bottles of body potions, shampoos, and conditioners on the shelf above that.

The Gryffindor baths hadn't been all that private, or pretty to look at, and so most of the time, Harry had stuck to showers. Of course there were those occasional times when he'd sneak into the prefects bathroom with Ron's help, but it wasn't like he could do that often anyway.

A few minutes later, the bath was filled with bubbly water and foam and the whole room was steamy and thick with the smell of vanilla. It made Harry's stomach growl.

Taking a deep breath and plugging his nose, he jumped into the tub and sunk to the very bottom, which was much farther than he'd expected. He kicked back to the surface and gasped for breath, swallowing in a mouthful of bubbles. Astonishingly, they tasted very good.

He tread water for a bit, doing small laps around the edge and then finally coming to a rest on his fifth lap. He threw his arms onto the side of the tub and let himself half float, half hang there for a while.

Washing himself was a bit of a difficulty, he discovered later, as he tried to lather some purple soapy lotion onto his body. The tub was too deep to stand in and so he couldn't very well use both hands to wash.

In the end, he chose to do the washing in the shower and then hop into the tub afterwards.

Just as he had finished up with the shower and was about to get back into the water, a soft creak sounded from behind him, followed by a small breeze of cold air on his skin. Startled, he turned around to find Malfoy standing in the doorway of the bathroom, one hand frozen on the door and the other on the drawstrings of his black pajama bottoms. His eyes were wide and unblinking as he stood motionless and staring at Harry as if were just as shocked to see Harry there, as Harry was about seeing Malfoy.

With a yelp, Harry tumbled into the bathtub, gulping in a lot of water and making a terrible splash. He resurfaced, spluttering and coughing.

"Malf- _Draco_!" he exclaimed in a choked voice, sinking as far as he could into the water. "Ever heard of knocking??"

Malfoy seemed to have gotten over his initial shock and was hastily doing up the drawstrings on his pants again.

"Well, you should've locked the door, smart one," he muttered, not looking up. "Anyone could come in here."

"Well, I... forgot!" Harry replied lamely, glaring.

"Convenient," snapped Malfoy and he disappeared, slamming the door shut behind him.

Harry waited for a few seconds, to make sure that the coast was definitely clear before he got back out. He was no longer in the mood for a bath, thanks again, to Malfoy. Everything was always Malfoy's bloody fault.

Flushing in anger and slight embarrassment, he violently scrubbed himself dry and yanked on his pajamas once more. He'd not only forgotten to lock the door, he'd also forgotten to bring a change of clothes. How much more stupid could he get? _Hopefully, not much,_ was the only thing Harry could think to himself as he stormed back to the dormitory. He didn't want to imagine what might happen next, if this wasn't the worst.

_TBC..._

**Coming up! Harry, Ron, and Hermione's visit to Hogsmeade! And there'll be plenty of Malfoy too... har har har.**

**Please review! Thank you!**


	9. Liar

**A/N  
**Wow! Thanks to everyone for their wonderful reviews! I was so incredibly happy. I think I got the most reviews this last chapter, which was absolutely wonderful. So for that, I provide here, an extra long chapter (counted six-thousand four hundred and twenty words), which hopefully you will enjoy as well. Please keep those reviews coming, for they are my love, my inspiration, my encouragement. And any praise, improvement critiques (please be kind!) and such are very much appreciated! Thank you again! (PS. I love conversational reviews -the long ones where I feel the need to reply to-. hint, hint)

_Special thanks to:_  
**Zoomaphonethepirate  
**We'll just have to see ay? WHO are the letters from? Are they indeed from Draco...? Or.... hehehehe. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing:) Love ya.

**Ahja Reyn  
**Love love LOVE your reviews! They're so long and so nice and so constructive:) Thank you so much, I appreciate every word you write:) And thanks also, for keeping up with my story. I know it's a bit dull in some parts, but I'm working hard to make it interesting! Thank you!

**Rowan and Sakura  
**Got to be my pair of most amusing reviewers. Your reviews are so much fun to read! Love how you're arguing over my story plot, it's great:) Please keep it up! And thanks for reviewing! I hope you don't stop reading my story, because then, I won't stop writing (until it's over of course) :) Lots of hugs.

**Pixie Goddess1  
**So frequent, so wonderful, gotta love ya:) Thanks so much for reviewing after each chapter, seeing that a reader is actually reading my story after every update, really inspires me to keep writing:) Thank you lots!

**Master-Of-wind  
**Your story got lost?? I'm so sorry about that! That really sucks:( But I hope my story isn't too similar, because I would hate for it to seem like I chewed it off of yours (I promise I didn't!) :)  
Thanks for reviewing though, I love every word I recieve! I hope you like this new chapter too.

**Moonglow-girl  
**Ahh, thank you Moonglow! That's a really nice thing to say! Thank you thank you thank you! And thankyou for reviewing! XxXx

**Princesspepper  
**Definitely a little more Draco here! I hope you like it too, and I hope I get to hear you giggle again:) Draco deserves to be giggled at too:) Thank you so much for reviewing Princess!

**dmweasley  
**Glad you think so! And here's chapter nine! Hopefully, you'll like this one too:) Thanks for reviewing!

**twistedgoddess88  
**I'm updatin'! Quick enough? Aaaanyway, hope you like it, and hope it'll make you say "update soon!" again:) Thanks for reviewing!

**Virginia Riddle-Malfoy  
**Oooooh, wet dream? Not a bad idea;) But of course the stupidity of the male race will never cease to exist. It's why we can't get enough of them right? oh yeah. Thanks so much for reviewing:) Love ya lots!

_NOW! Onto the reading!_

**Chapter Nine  
**_Liar  
_**  
**Malfoy was nowhere to be seen all morning after that incident. Well, it wasn't much of an incident really, but the way Malfoy had stared at him when he'd walked into the bathroom, as if Harry'd grown one too many heads or something... it was rather humiliating. And then to make matters worse, he'd fallen into the tub backwards, trying pathetically to hide himself from view. It had been an instinctive action, although Harry knew he wouldn't have minded half as much if it had been Ron that had walked in on him. After all, the showers in the Gryffindor tower were shared by all the guys.

Trying to cool away the red in his cheeks, he put his cold goblet up to his skin and sighed tiredly. Malfoy was much more trouble than he was worth, really.

After breakfast, while ignoring all the sour looks from the Slytherins, he marched over to the Gryffindor table across the hall and slipped into the seat next to Ron and Hermione, who looked surprised to see him there. Hermione put down the goblet she'd been sipping from and Ron paused his chewing, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk.

"'Morning," Harry smiled widely, looking back and forth at them.

"Good morning," Hermione replied politely, as usual.

"Morfnifng," Ron attempted, porridge dribbling down his chin.

Hermione gave Ron a disgusted look and handed him a napkin. Harry on the other hand was used to Ron's eating habits and actually found it quite a memorable sight. He hadn't seen it for three whole days.

"So," he began, leaning on the table. "You guys want to head to Hogsmeade after breakfast?"

Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione shushed him, in obvious fear of seeing more food flying out of his mouth, and spoke up first.

"Sure, that sounds good," she smiled slightly, "But, are you sure that you want to spend the day with us? I mean, aren't you best friends with Draco Malfoy?"

Ron snorted after swallowing his mouthful and shot a contemptuous look at the Slytherin side of the Hall.

Harry almost joined him, but stopped himself just in time.

"Er - I s'ppose so... but he and I are sort of in a fight now anyway. And I've always wanted to get to know you guys better. You're a nice lot," he said truthfully. "It'll be nice to breathe a different air for once."

"Hmm," agreed Hermione, crumpling up the napkin that had been spread on her lap and dropping it into her empty bowl. "So, shall we go then?"

Ron took a last swig of his pumpkin juice and nodded.

"Yeah, let's go," he said through a deep burp. "S'cuse me," he added after receiving another glare from Hermione. Harry chuckled softly. All three got up from the table and draped their winter cloaks around their shoulders, and pulled on their hats and mittens to protect themselves from the icy winds outside.

There was a light snow falling just outside the great doors of the castle; a very calming sight that gave the day a feeling of the coming of Christmas, now only three weeks away. The stone steps and green lawns were speckled with white and the gravel path that twisted it's way to the Hogsmeade gates was already imprinted with a trail of footsteps of the students making their way to the village.

It was colder than the dungeons below the school, but the coldness didn't seep past his skin. Harry felt happy and warm on the inside, just like he always did when he took trips to Hogsmeade with his friends. He knew that at the end of the long walk, he would be greeted by a frothing mug of warm butterbeer, a bagful of sweets from Honeydukes and a pocketful of jokes from Zonko's. It was enough to make anyone giddy with boyish excitement.

As they traversed the winding path, Harry got them talking about what they thought of him and rest of the Slytherins. He was able to find out in a short amount of time that the Gryffindors and Slytherins had a strong rivalry with one another, but not strong enough to wage a war. They mostly just kept out of each other's way whenever possible.

By picking through the conversation, he was also able to comprehend that the only Slytherin the Gryffindors really despised, was Malfoy. Malfoy, they said, was too arrogant for his own good. He hated everyone who wasn't a pureblood and wasn't as wealthy as him. That immediately crossed Ron and Hermione from his very short list of qualifying friends. They however, claimed that they didn't mind one bit, and that they preferred it to be this way because _they_ didn't like to make friends with prats like him.

Harry was pleased to know that they had never really thought any bad of himself, even though he was close friends with Malfoy.

"I always felt there was something that put you apart from the rest of your house, but I just never really thought much about it." Hermione said, shaking the snowflakes off her eyelashes. "You're not all that bad, you know."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, you smile too much to be in Slytherin. Bet you woulda done well in Gryffindor."

Harry laughed, and was soon joined in by both his friends.

When they finally reached Hogsmeade, they first went into Honeydukes to fill up their sweetbags with as much as they could buy. There were tastings all around the colorful shop and Harry, Ron, and Hermione had a fantastic time trying them all out.

"Hey, Harry! Try this one!" Ron shouted above the bustle, throwing him a red candy. Harry eyed it suspiciously before shrugging and popping it into his mouth. Immediately, he coughed and out of his mouth came a prettily wrapped present with a green bow on it. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and handed it back to Ron.

"Here you go Ron, Happy Early Christmas," he grinned.

"Thanks!" Ron said, grinning back and pocketing the present. "Hey!" he exclaimed next, pointing to a basket of gold chocolates. "Wonder what these are?" He picked one up, turning it around in his fingers.

"It's a -" Hermione said, squinting her eyes to read the label.

"I like chocolate," Ron said carelessly and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly a few times, waiting for something to happen, and then quite suddenly a very un-Ronish smile spread across his face and he leapt a foot into the air.

"Oh no..." Hermione giggled, covering her mouth. "He's eaten a _Chocolate Kiss_."

Harry frowned. "But aren't those muggle?"

"Not these ones." She hastily stepped back as Ron came thumping back to the ground. "Be careful Harry -"

But it was too late. By the time Harry knew what was happening, Ron had lunged at him and planted a huge wet kiss on his left cheek.

"Egh!" Harry cried as he wiped at his cheek. "Ron!"

"Sorry, mate." Ron apologized sheepishly, the tips of his ears reddening. "S'the chocolate."

"It's alright, just... don't eat one of those again." Harry said good-naturedly and patted Ron's arm. "Ready to pay?"

"Yes, let's," Hermione said loudly, and she grabbed both Ron and Harry's arms and began tugging them through the impossible crowd of students to the cashier counter at the back of the shop.

On his way there, Harry caught a glimpse of Pansy Parkison narrowing her eyes at him before exiting the shop swiftly.

"Next! Zonko's!" Ron cheered, skipping up the road in the steadily falling snow, their sweet bags filled to bursting.

In Zonko's there weren't any testers, but they still had plenty of fun imagining the many pranks they could play on Snape the next Potions lesson. Ron bought a package of twelve dungbombs on sale, and Harry got a new case of exploding snap cards.

"I think he's staring at you," Hermione whispered to Harry when they were looking over a showcase of expensive joke contraptions. She nudged him gently and Harry glanced over his shoulder.

Blaise Zabini was standing in the shadows of one of the shop corners, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on Harry coldly. Harry tried to look back coolly, but found his expression faltering as Blaise too, exited the shop a second later. Something very fishy was going on, and Harry had a feeling that he wasn't going to like the outcome of it at all.

"Think they're mad that you're hanging around with us?" Ron asked, seeing the peeved look on Harry's face. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea..."

"Just ignore them," Harry said curtly, turning his attention back to the showcase. "It's nothing."

But he brutally discovered later, that it was indeed _something,_ when they had sat down at one of the tall round tables in _The Three Broomsticks_ with a mug of butterbeer each in their hands. They were sitting there sipping contentedly when all the sudden, Harry's drink flew out his hands and into the air and upturned one hundred and eighty degrees, dumping the whole of it's steaming contents onto Harry's head.

With painful yelp, and the liquid burning on his skin, he fell of his stool with a crash and frantically tried to brush his soaked clothes off.

The entire pub was ringing with laughter and Harry could feel his face heating up, not just from the hot drink, but from humiliation.

"Be right back," he muttered, and raced off toward the toilets in the back of the pub, with his head bowed. When he reached the door to the toilet, he reached out a hand to grab the knob, but something hooked onto his other arm and he was yanked violently off into the narrow hall leading off toward the left.

"Hey!" he said loudly, struggling to free himself. "What the - let go!"

But he was being dragged along despite his efforts and with a cracking 'bang!' a gust of icy wind and a flash of white light blinded him momentarily. When he opened his eyes a second later, and after he'd adjusted to the new brightness, he was able to see that he was once more outside in the snow; a small alleyway to be exact. It was dark and hidden from the busy street of Hogsmeade.

He grunted as he was pushed onto the ground forcefully, and hit the back of his head hard. Luckily the snow served as a cushion and so he was able to remain conscious, enough to groan and look up at whatever had done him the damage.

He was surprised to say the least to find Malfoy standing over him, his eyes full of fury and his breath coming out deeply in white clouds. His cheeks were blotched with pink and his usually prim hair was in a disarray as if he'd been pulling at it for minutes on end.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked bewilderedly, staring at him with his mouth hanging open slightly. "What the hell?" He sat up quickly and then heaved himself onto his feet.

Malfoy didn't say anything at first; he just paced back and forth a meter away, looking at the ground with a stony expression on his face.

"Malfoy!" Harry bellowed, clenching his fists. He wasn't going to take anymore of Malfoy's crap, friend or not.

"Lancio!" Malfoy cried suddenly, pulling his wand out in a blink of an eye. Harry, who hadn't been ready at all, was thrown off his feet again and slammed into the brick wall of the pub.

"Damn it, Malfoy -" Harry cursed, gritting his teeth in pain. He dug his hand into his robe pocket, extracting his wand. He pointed it Malfoy's face. But Malfoy was quicker, he disarmed Harry with a well aimed expelliarmus and snatched the wand as it soared to him through the air. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy?"

Despite the fact that he was unarmed, injured, and freezing cold, he tried to look as confident and as undaunted as he could. He dragged himself into a sitting position against the wall, ignoring all the pain; his eyes never leaving Malfoy. Thoughts were once more racing through his mind, and he began suspecting strongly that Malfoy was showing his true colors now, as a dark wizard, who's plan it had been all along, to finish off Harry with a quick killing curse.

"You had them spy on me, didn't you? Pansy and Blaise. And you followed me-" Harry hissed angrily, "You're really a Death Eater, aren't you? And the whole lot of you Slytherins are out to kill me. I knew something was wrong. I knew it the minute I-"

"YES! They were spying on you! And _yes_ I followed you here!" Malfoy screamed, his fists clenching so hard that his knuckles were as white as the snow. "And _yes _I want to kill you!"

Harry felt the bottom dropping from his stomach, knowing fully well that if Malfoy did finish him off in this dingy alleyway without a wand to defend himself... well the prospect wasn't looking good. Not good at all.

"Then what are you waiting for?" he heard himself blurting out heedlessly. "No one's here to witness anything, and you've got me cornered."

He stiffened his muscles and braced himself for another hex that was sure to be cast his way... but instead of an incantation, he heard a soft plop of something being dropped into the snow and he cracked his eye open to see two wands half buried into the snow and a streak of black as Malfoy threw himself at Harry, crashing into him and grabbing handfuls of his robes in both hands.

Harry yelled at the sudden attack and fell sideways to the ground, snow blurring his vision as his glasses went flying off. His injured body wasn't responding as quickly as he would have liked it to, and he was having a difficult time trying to snatch back at Malfoy with his nearly frostbitten fingers. Malfoy wasn't very strong, but at the moment, he was winning terribly. His nails were digging into Harry's arms and chest, and his knees were pinning Harry's legs together, so that he couldn't move.

With a hefty groan, Harry struggled to push Malfoy off of him with his hips, while trying to catch both of Malfoy's flailing hands. He was able to seize one of Malfoy's wrists, which slowed his movements momentarily, then took that opportunity to buck his hips upwards. Hard.

Malfoy gave a strangled gasp, his eyes shooting wide open, and much to Harry's surprise, his grip loosened easily and he collapsed onto Harry, his breath coming in short, tight pants. He hastily raised himself onto his hands on each side of Harry's head and stared with an almost fearful expression. It looked a bit painful to Harry, but he couldn't fathom why. _He_ should be the one in pain, from the obvious state of things.

Harry frowned, his hands firmly wrapped around Malfoy's forearms now. His legs were no longer pinned together and he could have effortlessly flung Malfoy off of him if he tried to... but for some odd reason, (perhaps because he was too tired and injured), he didn't. He just stared back at Malfoy, gaze flickering from Malfoy's shaken eyes, to his pink cheeks, to his flushed parted lips, from which hot air was brushing Harry's own face. He realized, as they lay there, unmoving, that Malfoy had to be extremely close to him now, or else he wouldn't have been able to make out the long individual lashes curling from Malfoy's eyelids without his glasses.

He saw the adam's apple in Malfoy's slender throat dipping low, as if he were swallowing the lump that Harry felt too, but Harry was too confused to move, let alone swallow. He wasn't exactly sure what he was confused about, but he was.

Something cool, something soft grazed the side of his face, and his skin tingled and a warmth like a gentle shock spread down his neck. It wasn't registering in his mind what that soft thing was, because he was too busy pondering what he was so confused about. But it felt so nice on his cold cheek...

And then that thing was sliding down to his jaw and then slowly, oh so slowly along the veins in his neck and to his collarbone. He briefly closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them again, he wondered, _Had Malfoy's face been that close?_

.... _No_.... a voice inside his head said. _No._ _It wasn't that close, Harry. He's very close now. And that's his hand touching your skin. What's he doing? What are _you_ doing?_

It was as if a sudden redlight had begun flashing dangerously in Harry's head, he yelped and tried desperately to disentangle himself from Malfoy. He no longer felt comfortably warm; he felt burnt. He was too hot. Malfoy was no slower than him at tumbling off of him in the same manner, his complexion changing a wonderful variation of rosy and pale at the same time, that was definitely uncharacteristic. If Harry had had the space in his mind to notice, he would have noticed that Malfoy looked positively horrified. Harry was too busy trying to put as much space between them as possible.

_Must. Get. Wand!_ Harry's mind whirled in circles as he dragged himself across the feet of snow to where his and Malfoy's wands lay frosted. Malfoy had somehow gotten to his feet and they simultaneously snatched up their wands and Harry jabbed it in the blonde's direction as he himself got up, expecting another hex...

But Malfoy's retreating back was to him, and in the next second, he'd disappeared around the corner of the alleyway and into the bustling mainstream of Hogsmeade.

By the time Harry had dashed to the street full of bustling shoppers and students, Malfoy was no where to be seen.

Chest heaving, Harry stood in the entrance of the alleyway, his wand arm falling limp to his side. His free hand involuntarily fingered the trails of skin where Malfoy's fingers had been, stunned at his own sluggishness at reacting to what had been happening not moments before. Was he really that thick? He was supposed to be the world's savior, at least in his other life. What if Malfoy had been casting a dark curse on him? Numbing his mind and causing him that odd sort of confusion? Weakening him so that he couldn't fight back or defend himself... it'd certainly felt that way, now that Harry thought about it. Why else would Malfoy _do_ that?

_He did admit that he'd sent Parkison and Zabini to spy on me_. He reminded himself furiously. _And he did say he wanted to kill me. But was I about to LET HIM?_

He kicked viciously at the ground in disgust and trudged back to the patch of snow where it was dug up and scraped from all the fighting. He squinted around for his glasses, and spotting them, scooped them up and cleaned them roughly on his robes. As he was about to reenter the backdoor of the pub, his eye caught something else buried in the snow a few feet away. He walked over quickly, hoping that it was something Malfoy had dropped in his haste to get away.

It looked like a a ball at first glance, but then as he bent down closer, he saw that it was a crumpled piece of parchment. A cream colored crumpled piece of parchment that Harry was sure belonged to Malfoy, and he'd dropped it from a pocket in his haste to get away.

He picked up eagerly and began fumbling to smooth it out, nearly ripping it in half as he did so. What he saw when it was finally legible, made his stomach twist nastily and his heart to jump so high, he wasn't sure if it was still inside his body.  
_  
Dear Harry,  
It's that day of the month again, the day I send you my letters. Did you remember? I suppose you have a lot of things to keep you busy, and I wouldn't be surprised if you'd forgotten.  
It's Hogsmeade weekend, and I heard that you are going with somebody different then your usual group of friends. Why is that? I've been watching you very carefully these past few days, and I can sense that something is different. Does it have to do with your new friend? Why have decided to make new friends? Are you tired of your old friends?  
_  
And here, the clean scripture was suddenly becoming quite messy and jerky:  
_  
Do you hate them now? Do you hate your 'old' friends? Do you hate Slytherin? Because you know what? You want to know something Harry? I hate you. I hate you so much I want to hurt you. You've hurt me so I want to hurt you I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU I HATE YOU YOU BASTARD YOU FUCKING BASTARD I HATE YOU!!!  
_  
There were dark ink lines crisscrossing the bottom of the parchment as if the author had scratched his quill furiously, not even bothering to finish the letter properly.

Harry blinked and the letter slipped from his slack grip and fluttered to the ground.

He wasn't as concerned with the angry contents of the letter, as much as the fact that _Malfoy_ had had it in his possession. That would mean that he'd read it, and known about it... and he probably thought for sure now that he _liked_ Ron all because of that damned letter. But _WHY_ would Malfoy have the letter in the first place? Did he already know that Harry had been receiving anonymous letters from a secret stalker? He had to find out.

He picked up the letter, stuffed it into his pocket, and sprinted out of the alleyway into the bright street, not caring if he bumped into the people in his way. He raced as fast as he could all the way down the street and to the gates of Hogsmeade, back along the stretch of gravel path to the school grounds, and into the castle. Malfoy couldn't be far from where he was, he must have returned to Hogwarts.

If only he had that faithful map now, it would have come in handy at a time like this.

The castle was empty, except for the occasional group of first, second, and third years who weren't old enough to visit Hogsmeade. They all stopped to stare at him as he ran past, calling out Malfoy's name.

_The dungeons._ He thought as he skidded to a halt before the stairs winding downward at the end of the main hall.

"Dumbledore sucks!" he panted at the grey slab and it faded away to reveal the entrance to the Slytherin common room and he practically threw himself inside. "Malfoy!" he bellowed, taking the steps to the boy's dormitories at a leaping stride. "You there??"

There was no answer and when the door to his dorm crashed open, he found the room beyond to be empty. Not even a sign that anyone had been there in the past few hours.

"Dammit Malfoy!" he shouted, turning around to descend the staircase. He leaned against the back of a long couch to catch his breath and to brainstorm the places in the castle which he knew of, where Malfoy could be. _Library? At a time like this? The lake? No, it's too cold... _He pounded the couch with his fist in aggravation. _Where would _I_ go? Well that's easy... _Harry snorted, _I'd go to the Room of Requirement, but I doubt Malfoy knows about that... I mean, _I_ probably don't even know about it..._

He quickly dismissed the thought and started pacing back and forth restlessly. He stuck his hand into his robe pocket and took out the letter. _Did Malfoy know the person who wrote this? Was this why he had it? Maybe Malfoy was the messenger, and he was always the one handing me the letters..._

But he couldn't know anything for sure unless he asked Malfoy face to face. He knew he didn't care much about the letters in truth, but he had enough mysteries right now to deal with, without having to struggle with a secret admirer. He would get to the bottom of this.

At that moment, Theodore Nott came through the entrance hole, followed closely by a few other Slytherin seventh years.

Harry immediately straightened and went over to them.

"Have you guys seen Mal- Draco?" He asked.

Nott glanced at him and then at his friends.

"Yeah, we've seen him," he nodded, and the others nodded in agreement. "He looked pretty upset though, wouldn't even say 'hi' back to us."

"Something wrong?" Tracey Davis asked, looking a bit concerned.

"Er - nothing's wrong, but uh- I'm just looking for him. Could you tell me where you saw him?"

"We saw him heading up to the seventh floor," Millicent Bulstrode spoke up thickly.

"Probably heading for the anger room, seeing how he was practically steaming from the ears," Nott said, shrugging. "You know how he goes there a lot."

Harry furrowed his brows. "The anger room? Where's that?"

They all stared back at him incredulously. "Hello? You go there, what, four times a week to find Draco when somethings gone wrong."

"Oh right..." Harry stammered, "So seventh floor, then?"

"Well that's where we saw him," said Nott, shrugging. "Good luck."

Harry licked his lips nervously. "Thanks," he said, and sidled past the group as he exited the common room.

_Seventh floor, seventh floor. What's on the seventh floor? _His running footsteps echoed loudly through the deserted corridors like drumbeats. _Gryffindor Tower... Flitwick's office... _he jumped across the vanishing step on the third floor staircase. _And the Room of Requirement._

_But Nott said 'anger room'... not the 'Room of Requirement'..._

If it wasn't that though, there was nothing else that Harry could think of where Malfoy might go at times like these. He might as well check, there was no harm in that.

Two more sets of moving staircases, five vanishing steps and he was running along the corridor that led straight to the Portrait of the Fat Lady. He kept his eyes away from her though, and turned sharply at the corridor on his righthand side just past a suit of armor.

The light grew dimmer here, with only a few lamps protruding from the walls on either side of him. He turned a final corner and came to a large tapestry of Barnabas the Balmy and his troop of ballet dancing trolls and whipped around to face the adjacent wall... which should have been empty, but -

There was a door. And Harry hadn't even paced before it three times. That could only mean that there was another person or persons currently within it, using it for their own means...

Without hesitation, and without a doubt as to who it was inside, he grabbed the knob of the oak door and threw it open. Before he could even make out the scenery, loud crashing and cracking met his ears and he jumped backward. A glass goblet dashed itself against the wall only inches away from where he'd been standing.

When he was finally able to take in the state of the room, he was shocked. Broken goblets, ripped paper, shattered vases, splintered wood - it littered the wide room, covering the floor in inches. Along all the walls, there were tall shelves which housed these items, although they were still in their whole forms.

And in the middle of the room, stood Malfoy, his wand swinging wildly in all directions, and shouts of "LANCIO!", "DIFFINDO!", "INCENDIO!" followed by another goblet exploding against a wall, another piece of paper being shredded to pieces, another wastepaper basket blasting into flame.

Harry had to duck as a fork, all bent out of shape, came whizzing over his head and speared the wooden door behind him.

"Malfoy!" he yelled above the deafening noise. "Malfoy! Stop will you???"

But Malfoy's back was to him and he didn't seem to be hearing Harry, so Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at Malfoy.

"FINITE INCANTEM!!!" he shouted, and with another series of crashes, everything flying through the air dropped to the floor and the only thing that wasn't motionless, was Malfoy, who turn to face Harry with a livid expression on his face. He paled when he saw who it was and backed away.

"What the _hell_ are you _doing_? Have you gone MAD??" Harry asked in disbelief, gazing at all the obstructed objects around his feet. He gingerly stepped across mounds of cracked glass toward Malfoy.

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy hissed in a low breath, his lips barely moving.

"I'm doing what I'm always doing, four times a week, aren't I?" Harry ventured knowingly, remembering what Nott had said earlier.

"Fuck off," Malfoy growled. "Leave me alone for once, will you?"

"I will, if you tell me something," Harry dug into his pocket.

"Fine. Ask me and then get the fuck out of here."

Harry uncrumpled the letter and held it out in front of him, so that Malfoy could see clearly what it was.

"This," he replied, watching Malfoy carefully. He saw Malfoy's jaw go slack. So that erased the possibility that he and Malfoy had been in this together. "Yes," he went on, "You dropped this back there at Hogsmeade."

"Shit," Malfoy murmured, his eyes flickering back to Harry's.

"And I was wondering," he paused, lowered his hand, "if you knew who's been writing these to me."

Malfoy's hand was twitching around his wand, and he stood there as if trying to think of some good excuse, but to Harry, an excuse would just not be enough to satisfy him.

"I just want to know why you had it, and why you didn't give it to me. It might have slipped your mind..." Harry said, trying not to feel or look embarrassed about the incident in the alleyway... "But the fact that you had the letter, would mean that you knew who the writer is, right?"

Malfoy bit his lip and shifted his gaze. Harry was very suspicious.

"Come on," Harry coaxed, trying to soften his tone. "Please tell me - Draco." He felt foolish - as if he were whistling for a puppy, but it seemed to do the trick and it caught Malfoy's attention sharply.

Malfoy looked back at him for a long while, his expression becoming mild and delicate once more. Harry smiled hopefully and took another step forward.

"Please, Draco?" he asked again. He thought he'd broken through the ice when Malfoy's lips twisted into a barely noticeable smirk, but he was proved wrong for the umpteenth time that day.

"I can't," was Malfoy's reply. It was toneless and tired. "I can't tell you who it is."

Harry frowned irritably. "Why? Why can't you tell me? They're writing these letters to me because they want me to notice them, right? Then why can't they just _talk_ to me, or at least write a letter with their _name_ on it? It's kind of stupid."

Malfoy sighed and closed his eyes. "It's not that simple you know." He turned away and began clearing up the destructed room with lazy waves of his wand.

"That's bull," Harry snorted, folding his arms over his chest, his anger returning. "It'd be a lot less complicated if they just talked to me about their stalking problem. At least _I'd_ feel less uncomfortable."

"Yes well, think of it this way then," Malfoy said, still cleaning. "You might feel less uncomfortable now, but if you heard the truth, I don't think you'd be so sure of yourself."

"So you're saying that it's someone I hate?"

"No, I don't think you hate them, but like I said, it's complicated."

"Well how am I supposed to understand anything if no one tells me what's going on? Whoever's telling you what to do is pretty unreasonable."

"You could say that."

Harry groaned in frustration. "Then TELL ME! Your a Slytherin, right? Loyalty's got nothing to do with you!"

"No."

Harry glared at the back of Malfoy's head and breathed in deeply. "Okay, fine. Don't tell me. But you'll have to answer a different question for me then." He hoped he sounded threatening.

"Shoot."

"What were you doing to me back in that alleyway?"

There was absolute silence for a few seconds as Malfoy froze, the incantation dying on his lips. Harry smirked grimly in satisfaction.

"Why are you acting like my friend one day, and then wanting to kill me the next? What's your secret, Draco?" he whispered.

"There is no secret," Malfoy snapped quickly, a little too quickly. "I was just... mad at you. That's all."

"_Just_ mad at me?"

"Of course."

"And why's that?"

"Because you can be an insufferable asshole sometimes."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "So you're not acting on orders from a certain You-Know-Who? No searing tattoos on your left forearm? No masks and long dark cloaks?" Malfoy looked over his shoulder and frowned. "No unforgivable curses?"

"What are you talking about?" Malfoy asked, his eyebrows inclined.

"So... you're telling the truth?" Harry pressed on, his hope that he'd been wrong about Malfoy working under Voldemort's command was something he couldn't deny. If he could be sure that Voldemort didn't exist in this world, he would throw a huge celebration. He'd donate ALL of his Gringott's gold into that fountain at the Ministry. He would forgive Malfoy for his pettiness, for his arrogance, for _everything... _

"You think I'd taint my skin with a nasty tattoo?" Malfoy exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Show it then," Harry pursed his lips, nodding at Malfoy's arm. "Go on, show me your arm."

"What do you think I am, some rebel? You're accusing me of going rebel?" snorted Malfoy, rolling his eyes. "Is that what this is all about?"

"Show it," Harry commanded, drawing his wand.

Malfoy, who was looking rather annoyed, glared at him before pulling up the sleeve of his left arm. Harry's eyes widened as inch by inch, smooth, milky skin appeared... markless... completely markless.

"You don't have a..." he said quietly, staring at Malfoy's arm.

"Of course I don't," Malfoy said haughtily, yanking his sleeve down again.

"So you're not a - a..." _A Death Eater_. Harry finished silently, his veins throbbing and the heavy weight in his chest lifting. _There are no Death Eaters in this life._ He smiled slowly, the realization finally sinking in. He could almost feel tears forming in his eyes from the joy... _There's not Voldemort._

"Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you-" he whispered, closing his eyes and sighing.

"I didn't know you were that concerned about me," a voice interrupted him, sounding as if they were trying to hide the amusement, but failing.

Harry snorted with a lopsided smile and glanced back at Malfoy. It was like seeing in a whole new light.

"Yeah," he replied, grinning. "It's good to know you haven't gone rebel."

Malfoy shook his head and rolled his eyes again. "Sometimes I really don't get you, Harry," he hesitated and walked over, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. "You want to talk?"

"About what?" Harry asked.

Malfoy cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "Well, we could start with what's _really_ going on between you and Weasley."

"Why, did _Anonymous_ ask you to ask me?" Harry joked, but Malfoy looked grave. He sighed wearily. "I told you, we're just talking and having fun and stuff. Like friends. Normal friends. And Hermione - I mean, Granger. She's not that bad either."

"But they're _Gryffindors_," Malfoy protested. "And they're _Weasley_ and _Granger._ The two people in this school that we Slytherins refuse to make ties with. They're not worth any of our time, Harry, least of all yours."

Harry didn't like what Malfoy was saying, not at all. It wasn't new to him that the Slytherins all despised Gryffindor, but saying that Ron and Hermione weren't worth anyone's time was just over the edge.

"There's nothing wrong with being in Gryffindor, and if I was in Gryffindor -"

"But you aren't."

"I could've been!"

"No you couldn't."

"You've got no idea how wrong you are. The only reason I'm in Slytherin is -" he stopped short.

"Is what, Harry?"

".... dunno..." he bit his lip. "Ma - Draco... why _am_ I in Slytherin?"

Malfoy's grey eyes bore into his firmly, confidently.

"Because you _are_ one," he drawled. "You're almost as bad as Longbottom." Harry opened his mouth to protest but Malfoy smirked and covered Harry's mouth with his hand. "You know, Harry. You're so naive... if you're not careful, it'll lead you to a lot of things that you'll come to regret later."

Malfoy's hand smelled like roses, Harry thought absently.

"And you're right," Malfoy continued, lowering his hand. "I'm a Slytherin, and the best of them all. Loyalty is not really my thing. If you really want to know who your _secret admirer_ is, I _might_ consider telling you."

"About time!" Harry retorted.

"But only after you truthfully tell me one thing."

"What's that?"

"This."

And Malfoy leaned forward and kissed Harry deeply, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck and pulling him so close, that Harry nearly collapsed forward onto Malfoy. To stop himself from falling, he grabbed with both hands, onto the closest thing he could find, which happened to be Malfoy's hips, and managed to steady himself. He was so overwhelmed, that he didn't even notice that his knees were wobbling, or that he wasn't trying to move away from Malfoy, like he should have been doing.

When they pulled apart, Harry's glasses were askew and his cheeks flaming. His brain seemed to be incapable of forming words.

"_Liar_," Malfoy said lightly, licking his lips. "And you're a terrible one at that."

Harry jumped when something pinched his arse and he gasped, staring even harder at Malfoy, who simply smiled and with a cool wave of his hand, swept out of the door, laughing.

_TBC..._

Hopefully this isn't a cliffhanger and I've satisfied most of you for the meantime! Clicky the review button and I'll be very happy! Hugs and kisses for all:)


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